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;      OLD    PARIS 

ITS  COURT  AND  LITERARY  SALONS 
Volume  II. 


LADY  JACKSON'S  WORKS. 

14   VOLUMES. 

OLD  PARIS.     Its  Court  and  Literary  Salons.     2  vols. 

THE  OLD  REQinE.     Court,    Salons    and   Theatres. 
2  vols. 

THE  COURT  OF  FRANCE  in  the  Sixteenth  Century, 
"5'4="S59-     2  vols. 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    V ALOIS,    and    Accession    of 
Henry   of  Navarre,    I559-=I589.     2    vols. 

THE    FIRST   OF   THE    BOURBONS,    1589-1595.       a 
vols. 

THE   FRENCH    COURT   AND   SOCIETY.       Reign    of 
Louis   XVI.    and   First   Empire.    2  vols. 

THE  COURT  OF  Trffe  TUILERIES,   from    the   Res= 
toration  to  the  Flight  of  Louis  Philippe.    2  vols. 

JOSEPH  KNIGHT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

BOSTON,  MASS. 


Xouts  PID. 


OLD    PARIS 


ITS    COURT    AND    LITERARY    SALONS 


CATHERINE    CHARLOTTE,    LADY    JACKSON 


"  C'est  £l  la  litt^rature  qu'on  doit  I'^loignement  des  debauches  gros- 
sieres  et  la  conservation  d'un  reste  de  la  politesse.  Cette  litt^ratiire,  utile 
dans  toutes  les  conditions  de  la  vie,  console  mgme  des  calamit6s  publiques, 
en  arretant  sur  des  objets  agreables  I'esprit  qui  serait  trop  accabl6  de  la 
contemplation  des  miseres  humaines." 

Voltaire. 


In  Two  Volumes 
VOL.  II. 


lit!)  Illii0trati0n0 


BOSTON 
JOSEPH    KNIGHT    COMPANY 

1895 


CToIonial  59rcss: 

C.  H.  Simonds  &.  Co.  Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


DC 


CONTENTS    OF    VOLUME    II. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Exhaustion  of  the  Finances.  —  Civil  War:  Its  Origin. — 
The  Ministerial  Grand  Coup.  —  Consternation  in  Paris. — 
The  Conseiller  Broussel.  —  The  Coadjuteur  de  Paris. — 
His  Reckless  Life  and  Popularity.  —  De  Retz  and  Ma- 
zarin. — -Attempts  to  Appease  the  People.  —  The  Queen's 
ill-timed  Mirth. — The  Barricades.  —  Les  Frondeurs. — 
Mole's  Address  to  the  Queen. —  Henrietta,  wife  of 
Charles  I.^ — Broussel's  Return  to  Paris.  —  End  of  Act  I. 
of  the  Fronde.  —  Modes,  a  la  Fronde. — The  Giant  Goliath 
and  Mazarin  .  .  .  .  .  .       i 

CHAPTER    II. 

The  Parliament  gives  a  Ball  to  the  King.  —  The  King's 
Faithful  Lieges. — -The  Queen's  Petite  Vengeance. —  The 
Return  from  the  Ball.  —  La  Duchesse  de  Longueville. — 
Nanon  Lastigue.  —  A  New  Scandal.  —  De  la  Rochefou- 
cauld.—  The  Duchess  an  Ardent  Frondeuse  .  .16 

CHAPTER    III. 

Reassembling  of  the  Parliament.  —  The  Flight  from  Paris. 
—  Mazarin  declared  a  Traitor.  —  "The  First  to  the  Corin- 
thians."—  A  Lodging  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville.— -Birth  of 
Charles  Paris.  —  Les  Petits-Maitres. — Turenne  joins  the 
Revolt.  —  Mazarin  retires  to  Cologne.  —  Conde  seeks  Aid 
from  Spain.  —  The  Peasantry  flock  to  Paris.  —  The  Siege 
of  Bordeaux.  —  Turenne  and  Conde  at  Gien.  —  Conde 
compared  to  Cromwell.  —  The  Battle  of  la  Rue  Saint 
Antoine. —  The  modern  Bellona. —  La  Rochefoucauld 
wounded.  —  Mademoiselle  and  her  Marechales.  —  They 
enter  Orleans  in  Triumph.  —  Mazarin  banished.  —  De 
Retz  imprisoned;  his  Escape. —  The  Queen  recalls  Ma- 
zarin.—  A  Heaven-born  Minister     .  .  .  .24 


471450 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    IV. 

La  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie.  —  Le  Petit  Paul  Scarron. — 
Fran9oise  d'Aubigne. —  Mortified  Vanity. —  Scarron's  Offer 
of  Marriage.  —  La  belle  Madame  Scarron.  —  Her  Brilliant 
Salon. —  Celebrities  of  the  Day. —  Le.s  Uames  Frondeuses. 
—  Character  of  Madame  Scarron.  —  Her  Desire  for  "Con- 
sideration."—  Disappointing  when  Attained  .  .     43 


CHAPTER   V. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Montausier  return  to  Paris.  —  An 
Epitaph.  —  The  Bride  of  Vladislas  of  Poland.  —  Jean 
Casimir.  —  Death  of  Voiture.  —  Jean  Louis  Balzac.  —  The 
Prize  of  Eloquence.  —  A  Presentation  Gold  Chain. — 
"Artamene,  ou  Le  Grand  Cyrus."  —  Dedicated  to  Anne 
de  Bourbon.  —  Cyrus  and  the  Princess  Mandane.  —  De- 
scription of  Marseilles.  —  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde. — 
Boileau's  Remarks  on  "Le  Cyrus."  —  Bossuet  Compares 
Conde  to  Cyrus.  —  Novels  of  Madame  de  La  Fayette. — 
Succeed  the  Scudery  Romances.  —  Smouldering  Love  of 
Liberty  .  .  .  .  •  •  -54 


CHAPTER   VL 

Les  Moeurs  Italiennes.  —  Louis  Disposed  to  Break  Bounds. 

—  Increase  of  Gambling.  —  The  Cure  of  St.  Germain. — 
The  Doctors  of  the  Sorbonne.  —  Mazarin  Unmasks  to  the 
Queen.  —  Georges  de  Scudery  Married.  ^ — Friendship 
Dashed  with  Sentiment.  —  Mdlle.  de  Scudery's  "  Samedi." 

—  Les  Coteries  Precieuses.  —  The  Scudery  Circle.  —  The 
Tuesday    Receptions.  —  Madeleine's     Paroquet.  —  Clelie." 

—  The  Pen  of  Sappho.  —  Portraits  and  Entretiens. — "Les 
Mysteres  des  Ruelles.  —  Madeleine's  Annuity         .  .     69 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A  Royal  Vi.sitor.  —  Christina  of  Sweden.  —  Chasing  the  wild 
Boar.  —  "Vivat  nostra  Regina!"  —  Christina's  Abdication. 

—  Christina  described  in  "Cyrus."  —  A  Surprise  for  the 
Court.  —  Christina  in  Paris.  —  A  Sensation  at  Compiegne. 

—  Costume  of  the  Queen  of  Sweden.  —  At  the  first 
Glance,  Alarming. — Her  Personal  Appearance. —  Finances 
at  a  low  Ebb.  —  Departure  and  return.  —  Assassination  of 
Monaldeschi .  .  .  .  .  .  •     ^5 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Madame  de  Caylus.  —  Reminiscences  of  the  Fronde.  —  Ho- 
tels d'Albret  and  de  Riclielieu.  —  Ruelles  and  Alcoves. — 
La  Marquise  de  Sable.  —  A  Disciple  of  D'Urfe.  —  A  faith- 
less Knight.  —  Dismissed  by  his  Lady-love.  —  The  Port- 
Royal  Salon.  —  "Maximes  et  Pensees."  —  La  Rochefou- 
cauld's Philosophy.  —  Les  "  Lettres  Provinciales."  —  Blaise 
Pascal.  —  Maximes  de  Madame  de  Sable     . 


CHAPTER   IX. 

The  King's  Illness.  —  The  Quack  and  the  Court  Physicians. 
—  Mazarin  flatters  Cromwell.- — Debut  of  Moliere  in 
"L'fitourdi." — La  Troupe  de  Monsieur.  —  Les  Precieuses 
et  les  Pecques.  —  Life  of  a  Provincial  Actor.  —  Moliere 's 
Prose  Plays.  —  "  Les  Jansenistes  d' Amour  "  .  .no 


CHAPTER   X. 

Distress  in  France.  —  The  Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees.  —  The 
Restoration  of  Charles  II.  —  Maria  Theresa  of  Spain. — 
Bridal  Cortege  of  Louis  XIV.  —  The  Cardinal-Minister. — 
Hercules  in  Love.  —  Parental  Authority  of  Mazarin.  —  Re- 
turn of  Conde  and  Les  Frondeurs.  —  Madame  de  Scudery. 
— ^Scarron.  —  Death  of  Mazarin.  —  Affected  Grief  of  Louis 
XIV.  .  .  .  .  .118 

CHAPTER  XL 
Philippe,  Monsieur,  becomes  Due  d'Orleans.  —  Marriage  of 
Philippe.  —  Henriette  d'Angleterre.  —  The  Palais  Royal 
given  to  Philippe.  —  Moliere's  Success  as  a  Courtier. — 
Jean  Baptiste  Lulli.  —  His  Skill  as  a  Violinist.  —  French 
Academy  of  Music.  —  Musical  Entertainments.  —  The 
Lyric  Poet,  Quinault.  —  Racine's  Bridal  Ode  to  the  Queen. 
—  The  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  .  .  .  .128 


CHAPTER   Xn. 

The  Cardinal-Minister's  Palace.  —  The  Hotels  Mazarin  and 
Nevers.  —  The  Cardinal's  Hoarded  Wealth.  —  Saint  fivre- 
mond.  —  La  Bonne  Regence.  —  Nicolas  Fouquet.  —  Charac- 
ter of  Fouquet.  —  The  Chateau  de  Vaux.  —  The  Sculpture 
and  Paintings.  —  A  Grand  Fete  Champetre.  —  The  The- 
atre.—  The  Banquet.  —  The  Picturesque  Dresses. —  Fou- 
quet's  Gallery  of  Portraits.  —  The  King's  Gracious  Adieux. 
—  Arrest  of  Fouquet  and  Pelisson  .  .  .  -139 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Mazarin's  Improvements  in  the  Old  City. —  The  Paul  Clif- 
fords of  Paris.  —  The  King  Returns  to  the  Louvre.  —  The 
Grande  Fa9ade.- — -Perrault,  Mansard,  and  Bernini.  — Le 
Chateau  de  Maisons.  —  Bernini  Returns  to  Rome.  —  The 
Louvre  and  its  Doctor.  —  The  Louvre  Abandoned.  —  "Un 
Favori  sans  Merite." — Improvements  in  Paris.  —  L'Aca- 
demie  des  Belles-Lettres.  —  Learned  Societies  Founded. — 
Louis,  under  Colbert  and  Lyonne    .  .  .  •   '  55 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Madame  de  Sevigne's  Letters  to  M.  de  Pomponne.  —  Fou- 
quet's  Casket  of  Billets-doux.  —  The  Letters  from  Sevigne. 

—  Her  Appeal  to  her  Friends.  —  Devotion  in  Friendship. 

—  Mazarin's  Peculations. — Colbert's  Hatred  of  Fouquet.  — 
Sevigne's  Deep  Emotion.  —  Pelisson's  Pleadings. —  Elo- 
quence and  Pathos.  —  Fouquet's  Sentence.  —  Perpetual 
Imprisonment.  —  The  Fortress  of  Pignerol.  —  The  North 
and  the  South.  —  Woman's  Privilege  ,  .  .167 


CHAPTER   XV. 

The  Salons  Nevers  and  Mazarin.  —  Saint  Evremond's  Letter. 
—  Saint  fivremond  Escapes. — A  Welcome  in  England. — 
The  Hotel  de  Nevers.  —  Madame  Des  Houlieres.  —  Poems 
of  Madame  Des  Houlieres.  —  Her  Rescue  from  Prison. — 
Satirical  Sonnet  on  "  Phedre."  —  A  Duel  seems  Inevitable. 
• — Rachel,  as  Phedre. — The  Brothers  Corneille.  —  First 
Plays  of  Racine.  —  Like  Coffee,  find  no  Favour.  — "  Le 
Misanthrope."  —  "  Les  Femmes  Savantes." — -Theatre  du 
Palais  Royal,  1666.  —  Moliere  in  Ninon's  Salon.  —  "  Tartuf- 
foli!  Signor  Nuncio "  .  .  .  .  .180 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Death  of  Anne  of  Austria.  —  Bossuet,  Eveque  de  Condom. 

—  Le  Grand  Monarque. —  Louis's  Preference  for  Versailles. 

—  His  Numerous  Court. — The  Satirist  of  the  Fronde. — 
La  Princesse  d'Elide. — The  Fetes  of  1667.  —  An  Address 
to  the  Sun.  —  Versailles  in  its  Glory.  —  A  Grand  Prom- 
enade.—  The  Sun  and  the  Lesser  Lights.  —  The  Court  and 
the  Salons.  —  A  Confidential  Secretary.  —  L'Appartement 

du  Roi.  —  Social  Freedom    .  .  .  .  •   1 97 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Madame  Scarron.  —  Le  Marechal  d'Albret. —  La  Marechale. 

—  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  —  Mdlle.  de  Grand  Bois.  —  The 
Hotel  de  Richelieu. — The  Duke's  Portrait  Gallery.  —  An 
Amiable  Wife.- — -Les  Amants  declares.  —  L'Abbe  Testu. 

—  The  Pets  of  the  Salons.  —  L'Abbe  Scarron.  —  Madame 
de  Montespan.  —  The  Princess  de  Nemours.  —  Madame 
Scarron's  Pension  restored  .  .  .  .211 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Death  of  Henriette  de  France.  —  The  Funeral  Oration. — 
The  Crime  of  Heresy. — -Conquest  of  Flanders.  —  Fetes  at 
St.  Germain.  —  Siege  of  Dole.  —  Peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle. 
-^The  Phlegmatic  Dutch  Envoy     ....  224 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

A  Royal  Progress.  —  Mdlle.  de  Montpensier.  —  The  Count 
de  Lauzun.  —  The  King's  Historiographer.  —  A  Numerous 
Retinue.  —  The  Three  Queens.  —  Preparing  to  Invade 
Holland.  —  A  Windfall  for  Charles. — ^La  Belle  Bretonne. 

—  La  Valliere's  Star  Setting.  —  Monsieur  again  Jealous. — 
Death  of  Madame.  —  Its  Cause  doubtful    .  .  .  231 

CHAPTER   XX. 

Funeral  Oration  of  Madame.  —  Madame's  Last  Hours. — 
Great  Pulpit-Orators. —  Preachers  at  the  Play.  —  The 
Pulpit  and  the  Stage.  —  Fenelon.  —  Telemaque.  —  Peter- 
borough at  Cambrai.  —  Cambrai  during  the  Wars.  —  Saint 
Simon's  Portrait  of  Fenelon  ....  242 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

Mademoiselle's  Secret.  —  A  Respectful  Lover.  —  The  Name 
on  the  Window-Pane. —  Louis  consents  to  the  Marriage. 

—  "Delays  are  Dangerous."  — The  King's  Honour  at 
Stake.  —  Disappointed  Hopes.  —  Grief  and  Wild  Despair. 

—  The  Marquis  de  Montespan.  —  La  Valliere's  First 
Flight.  — The   Mardi-Gras    Ball.  — The   Rival   Mistresses. 

— "  L' Amphitryon "  .  .  .  .  .250 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

The  King's  Visit  to  Chantilly.  —  Reception  at  the  Chateau. 

—  A  Stag-hunt  by  Moonlight.  —  Vatel's  Distress.  —  Vatel's 
Suicide.  —  Confusion  and  Dismay.  —  Counting  the  Cost    .  261 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Arrest  of  Lauzun.  —  From  the  Bastille  to  Pignerol.  —  An 
Uncongenial  Couple.  —  Lauzun  leaves  France.  —  The  King 
and  the  Dauphin.  —  The  Dauphin's  Preceptors.  —  Une 
P'emme  Savante.  —  The  Duchess  de  Montausier.  —  "The 
King's  Religion." — Madame  Dacier's  Translations.  —  A 
Famous  Literary  Dispute.  —  The  Iliad  of  Lamothe.  —  A 
Youthful  Critic  ......  267 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

The  Camp  at  Chalons.  —  Going  to  the  Wars.  —  "  Vive  Henri 
IV."  —  Death  of  Charles  Paris.  —  Lamentation  and  Woe. 
—  "Les  Solitaires"  of  Port-Royal.  — The  King  Returns 
to  France.  —  The  Dutch  Reject  Peace      .  .  .  278 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Louis  XIV.  and  La  Valliere.  —  The  Favourite  and  the 
Queen.  —  Mdme.  Scarron  at  Vaugirard.  —  La  Valliere 's 
Third  Flight. —  Pious  Austerities.  —  An  Audacious  Priest. 
—  Bourdaloue.  —  A  Courtly  Preacher.  —  A  Lenten  Ser- 
mon.—  The  King's  Condescension.  —  Pere  La  Chaise. — 
The  Peripatetics  of  Versailles.  —  La  Bruyere.  —  Pelisson's 
Conversion    .  .  .  .  .  .  .285 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

Death  of  Turenne  and  Retirement  of  Conde.  —  Funeral 
Orations.  —  La  Belle  Fontanges.  —  Marriage  of  the  Dau- 
phin.—  La  Dame  d'Honneur.  —  Poetry  and  Piety.  —  La 
Fontaine.  —  The  Soldier-Prince.  —  Death  of  La  Belle 
Duchesse.  —  The  Tuileries  Forsaken.  —  Poisonings  and 
Magic. —  Marriage  of  Mdme.  de  Maintenon  .  .  297 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  —  Petitot,  the  Enamel 
Painter.  —  His    Escape   to  Geneva.  —  Bordier. — Vandyke. 

—  Petitot  and  Bordier  in  Paris.  —  Portrait  of  Jean  Sobi- 
eski.  —  Destruction  of  Works  of  Art.  —  Petitot's  Chef- 
d'Oiuvre        .......  307 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

Marriage  of  Mdlle.  de  Nantes.  —  Death  of  the  Grand  Conde. 

—  Bossuet's  Last  Oration.  —  Madame  de  Caylus.  —  Lines 
Addressed  to  her.  —  The  Marquis  de  la  Fare  .  .  314 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


Reappearance  of   Lauzun.  —  James  II.  —  Melancholy  Mirth. 

—  Distress  in  France.  —  Decline  of  Les  Belles-Lettres. — 
Madame  de  Lambert.  —  Death  of  Mdlle.  de  Scudery. — 
Ninon  de  Lenclos.  —  Voltaire.  —  Death  of  Ninon. —  1715  319 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

Close  of  the  Reign  of  Louis  XIV.  —  Paris  in  17 15.  —  Hotels 
of  the  Noblesse. — Coach-building.  —  Misery  and  Famine. 

—  Italian  Opera  Prohibited.  —  Grand  Altar  of  Notre 
Dame.  —  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  1690. —  Death  of  the 
Grand  Monarque       ......  328 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Volume  II. 

PAGE 

Louis  XIV. Frontispiece 

Madame  de  Maintenon 50 

Mdlle.  de  Scud^ry 76 

MOLIERE 112 

Louise  La  Valliere 152 

Madame  de  Sevign6         .......  174 

Fenelon 246 

La  Bruyere 294 


OLD    PARIS 

ITS    COURT   AND    LITERARY    SALONS 


CHAPTER    I. 

Exhaustion  of  the  Finances. —  Civil  War;  Its  Origin.  —  The 
Ministerial  Grand  Coup.  —  Consternation  in  Paris.  —  The 
Conseiller  Broussel.  —  The  Coadjuteur  de  Paris.  —  His  Reck- 
less Life  and  Popularity.  —  De  Retz  and  Mazarin.  —  At- 
tempts to  Appease  the  People.  —  The  Queen's  ill-timed 
Mirth.  —  The  Barricades.  —  Les  Frondeurs.  —  Mole's  Ad- 
dress to  the  Queen.  —  Henrietta,  wife  of  Charles  I.  —  Brous- 
sel's  Return  to  Paris.  —  End  of  Act  I.  of  the  Fronde. — 
Modes,  a  la  Fronde.  —  The  Giant  Goliath  and  Mazarin. 

I  HE  finances  of  the  state  were  at  a  very 
low  ebb,  and  money  was  wanting  to  fur- 
nish suppHes  to  the  victorious  armies, 
which,  under  the  Great  Conde  and  other  vahant 
generals,  were  reaping  laurels  for  France.  Arrears 
of  pay  were  also  due  to  them,  some  portion  of 
which  it  was  desirable  to  defray.  The  revenues 
of  the  kingdom,  had  it  been  customary  to  apply 
them  to  meet  the  expenses  of  government,  would 
have    amply   sufficed  for    its   requirements ;     but 


2  OLD   PARIS 

since  the  days  of  the  great  Sully,  ministers,  and 
surintendants  des  finances,  had  cast  economy  and 
probity  to  the  winds,  and  made  it  their  first  duty 
to  enrich  themselves  and  their  families.  It  was 
easy  to  invent  new  taxes,  and  so  long  as  the  people 
could  struggle  on  under  their  burdens,  of  what 
account  to  those  who  inflicted  them  were  the  pri- 
vations and  sufferings  of  those  who  bore  them  ? 
This  naturally  induced  extreme  irritation  in  the 
minds  of  the  people,  and  in  the  parliament,  and 
the  result  was  the  civil  war  of  the  Fronde  ;  which 
was,  in  fact,  but  the  reaction  from  that  state  of 
forced  submissiveness  to  which  the  iron  despotism 
of  Richelieu  had  ground  down  the  nation.  Other 
feelings,  other  interests,  that  gave  rise  to  some 
romantic,  and  many  ridiculous,  incidents,  became 
blended  with  the  primary  cause  of  the  outbreak, 
and  rendered  nugatory  that  great  popular  political 
movement  which  so  long  defied  the  authority  of 
the  government,  and  even  threatened  the  court 
and  the  country  with  revolution. 

Memoirs  of  the  Fronde  are  numerous,  and  the 
chief  incidents  of  that  drama  may  be  readily  gath- 
ered from  them.  But  of  the  character,  motives, 
and  actions  of  those  who  figured  most  prominently 
in  it,  it  is  difficult  to  form  from  them  an  opinion, 
so  opposed  to  each  other  are  the  various  accounts 
(for  the  most  part  dictated  by  prejudice,  partizan- 
ship,  or  in  a  spirit  of  ridicule)  of  those  who  took 
part  in  its  stirring  scenes,  or  were  eye-witnesses 


CIVIL    WAR.     ITS   ORIGIN  3 

of  them.  It  would  be  foreign  to  the  purpose  of 
these  pages  to  enter  into  any  detailed  account  of 
the  Fronde.  But  as  the  Fronde  had  its  heroines, 
as  well  as  its  heroes,  it  cannot  be  passed  over  alto- 
gether unnoticed. 

Mazarin,  who  was  generally  held  in  abhorrence, 
had  excited  public  indignation  by  giving  the  im- 
portant post  of  siivintejidant  des  fijiatices  to  the 
Italian  banker,  Particelli  Emeri,  a  man  of  mean 
birth  and  dissolute  life,  and  who,  enriched  by  plun- 
dering the  state,  lived  in  a  style  of  reckless  ex- 
travagance that  gave  considerable  offence.  His 
fertile  brain  invented  many  new  and  onerous  taxes, 
and  other  oppressive  measures  for  supplying  the 
deficit  in  the  revenue.  When  edicts  were  issued 
for  authorizing  these  new  imposts,  the  parliament 
opposed  and  declined  to  verify  them.  Other 
courts  of  justice  were  invited  to  unite  with  the 
parliament  for  the  purpose  of  reforming  the  state, 
and  the  proposal  being  willingly  accepted,  an  ^^  Ar- 
ret d' union  "  was  immediately  decreed. 

The  differences  between  the  parliament  and  the 
council  of  the  regent  continued  for  some  time 
without  any  attempt  at  actual  revolt.  But  the 
queen,  astonished  at  the  presumption  of  such 
^^  canaille,''  desired  to  give  the  parliament  a  lesson, 
and  one  so  forcible  that  that  assembly  of  mutinous 
spirits  should  thoroughly  comprehend  that  "  it  was 
not  for  rebels  to  meddle  with  the  concerns  of  gov- 
ernment, and,  under  the  semblance  of  seeking  the 


4  OLD   PARIS 

public  good,  fill  France  with  real  in  place  of  fancied 
misfortunes."  The  favourable  opportunity  the 
queen-regent  and  her  ministry  were  longing  for 
was  supposed  to  have  arrived,  when,  some  time 
after,  the  victory  of  Lens  was  announced.  "  Ah !  " 
said  the  little  king  (then  in  his  tenth  year,  and 
who,  if  he  could  not  read,  was  well  versed  in  all 
the  gossip  of  the  court),  "  how  vexed  the  rebel 
parliament  will  be  !  " 

When  the  colours  taken  from  the  Spaniards 
and  imperialists  were  brought  to  Paris,  a  day  was 
appointed  for  carrying  them  in  procession  to  Notre 
Dame,  and  for  the  singing  of  a  solemn  Te  Deum. 
The  streets  were  lined  with  guards,  of  whom,  when 
the  thanksgiving  for  the  victory  was  concluded, 
Mazarin  made  use  to  effect  his  and  the  queen's 
grand  coup.  This  was,  to  seize  and  convey  to 
Saint  Germain  the  Conseiller  Broussel,  and,  to  Vin- 
cennes,  Charton  and  Blancmenil,  the  three  most 
seditious  and  obstinate  magistrates  of  the  parlia- 
ment, as  they  were  considered  by  the  court.  "  For 
the  first  quarter  of  an  hour,  consternation  seemed 
to  have  paralyzed  the  inhabitants  of  Paris  ;  the 
next,  all  was  sadness  and  dejection.  Even  the 
children  shared  in  the  general  tristesse."  Sud- 
denly, however,  as  one  recovered  from  the  stun- 
ning effects  of  a  blow,  the  people  arise.  All  is 
movement,  running  to  and  fro,  cries  of  rage,  and 
shouts  of  "rt  bas  le  Mazarin^  The  gay  shops  in 
the   Rue  Saint  Antoine  are  hastily  closed.     All 


THE  MINISTERIAL    GRAND    COUP  5 

business  is  at  an  end.  Every  good  Parisian  joins 
the  throng  in  the  streets,  and  adds  his  voice  to  those 
already  calling  aloud  for  the  release  of  Broussel 
—  an  aged  man,  held  in  much  veneration  for  his 
integrity  and  uprightness  of  character.  The  coad- 
juteur  of  Paris,  Paul  de  Gondy  —  afterwards  Car- 
dinal de  Retz  —  apprized  of  the  emeute,  appears  on 
the  scene,  to  calm  the  effervescence  of  the  people. 
He  bids  them  expect  the  speedy  release  of  Brous- 
sel; he  then  hastens  to  join  the  queen-regent  in 
council.  He  finds  every  one  there,  he  says,  playing 
a  part;  "^/  la  reme,  qui  nc  fiit  javiais  phis  aigre, 
contrefit  la  douce''  She  was  laughing  heartily  at 
the  account,  which  two  of  the  courtiers  were  giv- 
ing her,  of  the  attempt  of  old  Broussel's  house- 
keeper to  prevent  the  capture  of  her  master,  and 
afterwards,  by  her  cries  and  lamentations,  to  incite 
the  people  to  sedition.  But  these  courtiers  well 
knew,  says  De  Retz,  that  "the  farce,  which  so 
greatly  amused  her,  was  not  unlikely  to  be  fol- 
lowed, very  soon,  by  a  tragedy." 

After  some  "discussion  on  the  subject,  Mazarin 
asked  the  opinion  of  the  council  as  to  what  course, 
under  the  circumstances,  it  would  be  best  to  pursue. 
"My  advice,"  said  one,  "is  to  surrender  the  old 
rascal  Broussel,  either  dead  or  alive."  De  Retz 
observed,  in  reply,  that  "  the  first  would  accord 
neither  with  the  piety  nor  the  prudence  of  the 
queen,  but  that  the  second  might  put  an  end  to 
the  tumult." 


6  OLD   PARIS 

The  queen,  her  colour  heightened  by  anger, 
exclaimed,  "I  understand  you,  M.  le  Coadjuteur; 
you  wish  me  to  give  Broussel  his  liberty.  But," 
and  she  brought  her  pretty  hands  dangerously 
near  to  his  face,  "  I  will  rather,  with  my  own 
hands,  strangle  him,  and  all  who  — "  She  said 
no  more.  For  Mazarin,  dreading  that  rage  would 
overcome  prudence,  whispered  a  few  words  in  her 
ear,  which  had  the  effect  of  checking  her,  and  her 
face  readily  resumed  its  wonted  calmness  of  ex- 
pression. (Enforced  reticence  of  her  real  feelings 
for  twenty-seven  years,  had  made  of  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria a  perfect  actress.) 

After  some  further  conversation,  the  coadjuteur 
was  commissioned  to  go  forth  and  appease  the 
people ;  promising  them  that  if  they  dispersed, 
and  quietude  and  order  were  restored,  Broussel 
should  be  released  the  next  day.  The  confusion 
had  increased,  for  the  mob  was  greater,  and  the 
pent-up  hatred  towards  Mazarin  found  vent  in 
terms  of  opprobrium,  applied  both  to  him  and  ^^  la 
dame  Anne."  The  appearance  of  their  coadjuteur, 
dispensing  blessings  on  all  sides,  and  accompanied 
by  the  Marechal  de  la  Meilleraie  at  the  head  of  a 
troop  of  cavalry,  had  on  many  a  soothing  effect ; 
but  the  task  he  had  undertaken  was  a  difficult  one, 
and  twice  his  life  was  in  danger  from  those  who, 
in  the  heat  of  frenzy,  did  not,  or  would  not,  recog- 
nize him.  Kind  words,  persuasion,  some  few  men- 
aces, and  many  promises,  at  last  prevailed.     The 


TFIE    COADJUTEUR   DE   PARIS  / 

greater  part  of  the  mob  dispersed,  to  await  the 
fulfilment  of  the  promise  of  Broussel's  release. 

The  coadjuteur  was  a  popular  man.  From 
childhood  he  had  been  destined  to  succeed  to 
the  archbishopric  of  Paris,  then  filled  by  his  uncle, 
and  which  had  become  a  sort  of  heritage  in  the 
Gondy  family.  Sorely  against  his  will  he  had  en- 
tered the  priesthood,  and  prospective  ecclesiastical 
dignities  could  not  overcome  his  extreme  repug- 
nance to  it.  He  fought  duels,  he  lived  a  reckless, 
dissolute  life,  hoping  to  be  pronounced  unfit  for 
the  Church.  But  all  in  vain  ;  his  escapades  were 
unheeded,  and  after  every  combat  he  remained,  as 
he  says,  ^^  avec  un  duel  de phis  et  sa  soutane.''  He 
believed  that  he  was  capable  of  playing  a  brilliant 
part  in  the  world.  But  not  being  able  to  throw 
off  the  archbishopric,  he  applied  himself  more 
assiduously  to  study ;  trusting  that  opportunities 
might  occur  when,  like  Richelieu,  La  Valette,  and 
other  warrior-priests,  who  had  not  thought  the 
sword  and  the  crozier  incompatible,  his  valour  and 
his  fitness  to  command  would  be  proved. 

He  had  become  popular  in  Paris  by  securing  the 
good  opinion  of  a  certain  class  of  persons,  who, 
though  so  straitened  in  means  that  pecuniary  aid 
was  acceptable  to  them,  were  disposed  to  suffer  in 
secret  rather  than  beg.  A  sum  of  twelve  thousand 
crowns  was  disposed  of  among  them  in  his  name, 
by  his  aunt,  who  was  accustomed  to  say  to  the 
recipient  of  her  bounty :    "  Pricz  Dieu  pour  mon 


8  OLD   PARIS 

neveii ;  c  est  lid  de  qui  il  lin  a  phi  de  se  servir  pour 
cette  bonne  oeiivre!' 

These  acts  of  private  beneficence  were  con- 
sidered to  atone  for  a  multitude  of  sins.  They 
made  him  known,  too,  in  his  diocese,  brought 
blessings  upon  him,  and  secured  for  him  immense 
popularity.  Persons  of  the  most  devout  life  and 
character,  adopting  the  words  applied  to  him  by 
his  preceptor,  Vincent  de  Paul,  said,  "^"//  71  avait 
pas  asses  depieU,  an  moins,  il  netait pas  trop  eloign^ 
dn  royaume  de  Dien." 

Both  in  learning  and  mental  endowments  De 
Retz  was  greatly  superior  to  Mazarin,  and  his 
friends  even  thought  he  might  supplant  the  cardi- 
nal in  the  favour  of  the  queen.  Mazarin,  though 
^^  maigre  a  faire  pciir,''  had  the  advantage  in  per- 
sonal appearance ;  but  Anne  had  once  said,  in 
reply  to  the  remark  of  the  Comtesse  de  Carignan 
that  the  coadjuteur  was  an  ugly  man,  "He  has 
beautiful  teeth,  and  no  man  who  has  a  fine  set  of 
teeth  can  be  called  ugly."  Tallemant  also  says, 
"  II  avail  q7ielque  chose  de  fier  dans  son  visage.'' 
However,  the  coadjuteur,  though  he  did  venture 
to  pay  his  court  to  her,  and  was  rather  graciously 
encouraged  than  repelled,  was  prevented  by  his 
attachment  to  Mademoiselle  de  Chevreuse  from 
following  up  the  advantage  he  was  supposed, 
erroneously,  probably,  to  have  gained  over  Mazarin 
in  the  good  graces  of  the  queen. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  popular  tumult  he  had 


ATTEMPTS    TO   APPEASE    THE   PEOPLE         9 

been  desired  to  appease,  the  coadjuteur,  on  return- 
ing to  the  Palais  Royal  to  relate  his  partial  success, 
was  received  by  Anne  and  her  council  with  an  air 
of  cold  incredulity.  It  had  been  decided  amongst 
them  that  the  agitation  of  the  people  was  as  little 
to  be  feared  as  a  mist  that  would  vanish  with  the 
dawn  of  day.  In  a  satirical  tone,  but  with  much 
smiling  politeness,  he  was  desired  by  the  queen 
to  seek  the  repose  he  must  so  greatly  be  in  need 
of  after  his  arduous  task.  A  vast  crowd  awaited 
outside  the  Palais  Royal  the  return  of  their  coad- 
juteur. He  was,  as  he  tells  us,  ^^  ce  qiton  appclle 
enrage;''  but  again  he  harangued  the  populace  — 
twice  from  the  top  of  a  carriage,  and  once  mounted 
on  a  large  stone  —  and  again  he  succeeded  in  ap- 
peasing their  anger,  and  averting,  for  a  time,  the 
threatened  storm.  But  in  his  absence  from  the 
council,  the  cardinal  and  the  coadjuteur's  friends 
amused  themselves  by  disparaging  him.  "  Instead 
of  calming  the  people,"  which  they  declared  he 
had  not  done  and  was  powerless  to  do,  "  he  had 
made  vain  attempts  to  induce  a  seditious  revolt ;  " 
and  so  amusingly  facetious  were  they  in  ridiculing 
the  peculiarities  of  his  gait,  and  airs  of  beau  cava- 
lier, which  accorded  so  ill  with  his  so?ttane,  that 
Anne  of  Austria  went  almost  into  hysterics  with 
laughter.  Duly  informed  of  what  had  passed,  and 
stung  to  the  quick  by  the  ridicule  of  the  queen, 
whom  he  had  wished  to  serve  ;  by  the  mocking 
compassion   of    Mazarin,  whom    he    despised,  the 


lO  OLD   PARIS 

coadjuteiir  turned  upon  the  court  and  declared 
that  "  before  the  evening  of  the  next  day  he  would 
be  master  of  Paris." 

Become  chef  de  parti,  Paris  armed  itself  at  his 
bidding.  Women  put  weapons  even  into  the 
hands  of  their  children,  and  with  that  desperate 
enthusiasm  so  characteristic  of  their  nation,  armed 
themselves,  also,  and  went  forth  to  add  fury  to  the 
fray.  In  the  space  of  two  hours  two  hundred  bar- 
ricades were  constructed,  on  a  plan  founded  on 
reminiscences  of  the  barricades  of  the  League. 
Gabions,  or  barrels,  were  filled  with  earth,  and  re- 
tained in  their  positions  by  aid  of  the  heavy  chains 
which,  at  that  period,  formed  a  sort  of  defence  at 
night  for  the  dark,  narrow  streets  of  old  Paris.  On 
one  side  of  the  streets  they  were  fastened  to  the 
walls  by  means  of  homes,  or  blocks  of  stone,  and 
being  stretched  across  them,  were  secured  by  mas- 
sive locks  on  the  other  side.  High,  narrow  baskets, 
filled  with  sand  and  stones,  stopped  up  the  inter- 
stices and  formed  a  sort  of  intrenchment.  Before 
night  near  a  thousand  of  these  barricades  were  im- 
provised by  the  people,  who  were  told  off  in  de- 
tachments to  guard  them. 

The  parliament  assembled :  and  the  minister 
having  communicated  with  them,  the  President 
Coigneux,  whose  views  were  not  unfavourable  to 
the  court,  was  in  the  act  of  recommending  the 
assembly  to  deliberate  on  the  message  he  had  re- 
ceived, when  his  son,  the  well-known  bcl  esprit,  De 


MOLE'S  STATEMENT   TO    THE    QUEEN       II 

Bachaumont,  said  jestingly  to  his  colleague  sitting 
next  to  him,  "  Qif  il  frondcrai  biai  V opinion  de  son 
pkre,''  when  it  came  to  his  turn  to  speak.  There 
was  a  general  laugh  ;  the  word  found  favour,  and 
was  repeated  from  one  to  another  till  it  had  gone 
the  round  of  the  assembly.  "  Frondetir."  It 
struck  them  generally  as  an  excellent  term,  and 
was  at  once  unanimously  adopted  by  those  who  in- 
tended to  have  their  fling  at  the  court.*  On  that 
famous  "  day  of  barricades,"  27th  of  August,  1648, 
the  parliament,  with  their  first  president,  Matthieu 
Mole,  at  their  head,  appeared  at  the  Palais  Royal 
to  demand  the  release  of  Broussel  and  Blancmenil. 
(Charton  had  not  been  taken.)  The  statement  of 
Mole  to  the  queen  and  her  council  was  eloquent 
and  forcible.  If  it  sometimes  shocked  the  ear,  it 
took  firm  hold  of  the  imagination ;  and  all  who 
heard  it  were  much  impressed  by  the  moderation 
and  justice  of  Mole's  views,  and  the  expediency  of 
yielding  to  them.  The  single  exception  was  the 
queen,  who  gave  way  to  passion,  "  Car  connaissant 
pen  elle  7ie  craignait  rieii,"  and  Mole  was  dismissed 
with  a  refusal.     Whilst    he   was    speaking,  little 

*  The  distinctive  epithet  so  unexpectedly  applied  to  the  civil 
commotions  of  that  period,  no  doubt,  suggested  itself  to  Bachau- 
mont, from  the  circumstance  of  an  edict  having  lately  been  is- 
sued prohibiting  a  set  of  youths  from  assembling  in  the  moats 
under  the  walls  of  Paris,  and  attacking  each  other  with  the 
fronde,  or  sling  and  stones.  Many  accidents  had  happened  from 
the  practice,  and  in  two  or  three  cases  death.  Fines  and  im- 
prisonment were  therefore  decreed  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 


12  OLD   PARIS 

Louis,  who  sat  beside  his  mother,  and  whose 
haughtiness  and  sense  of  his  own  greatness  and 
authority  were  far  in  advance  of  his  years,  was 
agitated  and  restless,  and  proposed  to  her  to  com- 
mand the  presumptuous  president  to  be  silent,  and 
to  have  him  driven  from  her  presence. 

Queen  Henrietta,  wife  of  Charles  I.,  was  also 
present,  but  urged  Anne  to  use  gentleness  rather 
than  severity.  The  civil  war  then  desolating  Eng- 
land had  driven  her  from  her  home  ;  it  threatened 
the  stability  of  the  crown  —  perhaps  the  life  of  her 
husband  —  and  began,  as  she  reminded  the  queen, 
in  a  similar  opposition  to  parliament.  The  words 
of  Henrietta  prevailed  with  Anne  far  more  than 
the  oration  of  Mole,  or  the  persuasions  of  the 
council,  for  a  qualm  of  fear  had  passed  through 
her  mind.  She  liked  the  insipid  routine  of  her 
indolent  life  to  flow  on  undisturbed.  The  release 
of  Broussel  and  his  colleague  was  therefore  ordered. 
And  it  was  not  too  soon.  Representatives  of  the 
trades  and  guilds  had  assembled,  and  threatened 
that  if  Broussel  were  not,  within  two  hours,  re- 
stored to  them,  a  hundred  thousand  men  would  be 
prepared  to  demand  his  release  in  a  different 
fashion,  and  that  the  queen  and  "le  Mazarin " 
would  have  to  go  through  "  tin  inaiivais  qiiart- 
d'hetire."     "  Race  libertine  !  "  exclaimed  the  queen. 

She,  however,  was  thanked  for  oi'dering  the  re- 
lease of  the  prisoners,  but,  at  the  same  time,  in- 
formed that   the  citizens  of    Paris  would  not  lay 


BROUSSETS  RETURN   TO   PARIS  1 3 

down  their  arms  until  Broussel  and  Blancmenil 
were  again  among  them.  The  next  day  Broussel 
returned  to  Paris,  or,  rather,  was  carried  thither 
by  the  enthusiastic  people.  He  was  an  old  man 
of  eighty,  and  was  nearly  killed  outright  by  their 
suffocating  embraces,  and  the  excitement  caused 
by  the  uproarious  acclamations  and  frenzied  joy  of 
his  fellow-citizens  and  friends.  The  barricades 
were  destroyed,  the  shops  were  reopened,  and  "  in 
less  than  two  hours,"  says  De  Retz,  "Paris  was 
quieter  than  ever  I  saw  it  on  a  Good  Friday." 
Henrietta  desired  to  see  the  aged  Broussel,  and  to 
converse  with  him,  thinking  she  could  persuade 
him  to  use  his  influence  towards  moderating  the 
pretensions  of  the  parliament.  But  speech  with 
Broussel  was  not  to  be  had,  and  the  parliament 
were  intent  on  getting  rid  of  the  cardinal. 

They  had  proposed  to  put  in  force  the  decree 
of  161 7,  by  which  the  Marechal  d'Ancre  was  dis- 
missed from  his  post  of  minister.  It  prohibited 
all  foreigners  from  interfering  in  the  government 
of  the  kingdom  and  their  appointment  to  any  office 
in  the  state.  The  court  immediately  forbade  all 
discussion  upon  it.  The  parliament  threw  it  aside, 
and  in  its  stead  passed  the  singular  law  that  made 
it  punishable  to  apply  to  any  one  the  epithet  of 
"  Mazariniste,"  as  being  the  greatest  insult  that 
one  man  could  offer  to  another.  The  Prince  de 
Conde  was  then  in  Paris.  Detesting  Mazarin,  he 
was  on  the  point  of  declaring  for  the  coadjuteur's 


14  OLD    PARIS 

party,  when  an  arbitrary  edict  of  the  parliament 
made  him  hesitate.  ''  Le  parlancnty'  he  said,  "^« 
trop  vite.  Je  mappelle  Louis  dc  Bourbon,  et  je  ne 
vcux pas  ebranler  la  courojme."  However,  a  decla- 
ration —  dictated  by  the  parliament  and  published 
in  the  name  of  the  king  —  re-establishing  several 
ancient  ordinances  that  Richelieu  had  abolished, 
was  accepted  as  a  sort  of  peace.  It  was  registered 
on  the  24th  of  October,  1648.  The  next  day  the 
parliament  adjourned ;  the  queen,  who  had  gone 
to  Rueil,  returned  to  Paris,  and  the  first  act  of  the 
Fronde  was  ended.  In  the  second,  new  characters 
were  to  appear  on  the  scene. 

Throughout  the  trouble,  suffering,  and  distress 
which  this  outbreak  of  popular  feeling  occasioned, 
there  had  been  a  constant  succession  oijeiix  d esprit, 
pasquinades,  farcical  and  satirical  plays,  chansoji- 
nettes,  etc.,  publicly  sung,  recited,  and  played ; 
printed,  and  distributed  about  Paris  by  thousands. 
Blot  de  Marigny  and  Paul  Scarron  were,  princi- 
pally, the  authors  of  these  witty  but  scurrilous 
productions.  The  "  Mazarinades  "  of  "/^  petit 
Scarron"  (a  sobriquet  first  assumed  by  himself) 
highly  diverted  the  people;  but  "  le  do?ix  careHnal" 
never  forgave  them,  and  in  after  years  the  poor 
crippled  humourist  was,  in  consequence,  refused  a 
pension. 

Fashion  also  took  up  the  Fronde,  and  "a  la 
Montauron  "  was  wholly  supplanted  by  it.  Hats, 
fans,  gloves,  and  kerchiefs  were  now  a  la  7node  de 


THE    GfAiXT   GOLIATH  AND   MAZARIN        I  5 

la  Fronde.  Dresses  and  long  hanging  sleeves  were 
fromUes,  or  slung  a  la  mode,  not  looped.  The  petits 
pains  and  the  knives  and  forks  also  followed  the 
fashion.  Even  a  savoury  dish  a  la  Fronde  was 
concocted  by  old  Broussel's  clever  cook,  and  the 
coadjuteur  and  his  friends  were  so  fortunate  as  to 
find  an  ingenious  hatter,  who  devised  a  trimming 
for  their  hats  that  bore  some  resemblance  to  the 
popular  sling,  and  had  an  immense  success. 

But  popular  as  was  that  humble  weapon  of  war- 
fare, it  proved  less  effective  on  this  occasion  than 
in  the  only  other  war  in  which  we  hear  of  it ;  that 
in  which  David,  with  a  stone  from  a  sling,  slew  the 
giant,  and  spread  consternation  in  the  ranks  of  the 
Philistines  ;  for  the  parliament  did  not  kill  the  car- 
dinal or  greatly  terrify  the  court.  It  may  be  that 
the  haughty  Goliath  bore  himself  too  proudly,  and 
had  an  overweening  disdain  for  the  champion  of 
Israel  and  \\\s  fronde ;  while  the  supple  Jules  Ma- 
zarin  —  though  he  ventured  to  stand  his  ground — 
bowed  his  head  when  he  saw  the  stone  coming  from 
the  parliamentary  sling.  Twice,  too,  he  ran  away, 
then  returned  to  the  charge,  and  finally  wearied 
out  and  disheartened  his  enemy ;  leaving  him 
dispirited  and  humbled,  with  his  face  on  the 
ground,  he  himself  standing  upright  —  not  only 
with  no  stone  in  his  forehead,  but  wholly  un- 
harmed, and  even  stronger  and  more  vigorous 
that  ever. 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  Parliament  gives  a  Ball  to  the  King.  —  The  King's  Faithful 
Lieges.  —  The  Queen's  Petite  Vengeance.  —  The  Return  from 
the  Ball.  —  La  Duchesse  de  Longueville.  —  Nanon  Lastigue. 
—  A  New  Scandal.  —  De  la  Rochefoucauld.  —  The  Duchess 
an  Ardent  Frondeuse. 

,0  celebrate  the  patched-up  peace  between 
the  queen  and  the  parliament,  it  was  pro- 
posed to  give  a  ball  to  the  king  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  on  his  birthday.  Paris,  still,  was 
restless  and  excited,  and  the  queen  declared  that 
she  was  afraid  to  pass  through  it  after  dark.  The 
ball  must  therefore  take  place  in  the  day-time,  and 
also  begin  at  an  early  hour,  for  both  Louis  and 
Philip  loved  dancing,  and  the  days  were  short. 
This  was  an  arrangement  that  pleased  neither  the 
givers  of  the  ball  nor  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
invited  to  attend  it.  They  were  reasonably  dis- 
content, for  a  ball — usually  a  melancholy  sort  of 
entertainment  —  is  unendurable  without  the  soften- 
ing beams  of  artificial  light,  so  becoming  to  arti- 
ficial flowers  and  complexions,  and  even  to  the 
freshness  and  fairness  of  real  ones.  The  dresses 
owe  to  it  more  than  half  their  effect ;  the  jewels 
a  large  part  of  their  sparkle  and  glitter,  and  the 

i6 


THE   KING'S  FAITHFUL    LIEGES  1/ 

music  itself  borrows  from  it  a  charm.  Every 
lady  who  is  skilfully  got  up  likes  to  be  thoroughly 
and  artistically  lighted  up.  When  she  feels  that 
she  is  so,  it  gives  zest  to  her  spirits,  brings  a  smile 
to  her  lips,  and  lends  new  brightness  to  her  eyes. 
The  whole  countenance,  naturally,  is  animated,  and 
with  animated  countenances  you  have  a  "  gay  and 
festive  scene." 

But  to  return  to  the  good  city  of  Paris  and  the 
Hotel  de  Ville:  it  was  represented  to  the  queen 
that  the  king's  faithful  lieges  felt  hurt  at  her  want 
of  confidence  in  them  ;  that,  if  her  escort  of  moiis- 
guetaires  and  cJievau-legcr  was  thought  insufficient, 
the  principal  men  of  the  bourgeoisie  would  form  a 
detachment  to  accompany  it.  The  queen  declined 
the  proffered  escort.  "She  had  unbounded  faith 
in  the  loyalty  of  the  Parisians.  There  were  per- 
haps a  few  turbulent  spirits  yet  unsubdued,  but 
whether  or  not,  for  the  sake  of  the  health  of  the 
royal  children,  it  was  expedient  that  the  ball  should 
take  place  by  daylight."  Nothing  more  could  be 
said.  Preparations  for  the  daylight  dance  were 
made.  But  as  it  could  not  take  place  on  the 
greensward,  the  salons  were  decorated  with  plants 
and  shrubs  from  thQ/ardin  botanique,  an-d  arranged 
to  resemble  as  nearly  as  possible  a  rustic  bower  on 
a  large  scale. 

The  occasion  was  one  on  which  to  be  absent, 
without  the  most  valid  of  reasons,  was  to  give 
offence  to  one  party  or  the  other.     So  the  ladies 


1 8  OLD    PARIS 

patched  and  painted  that  morning  with  especial 
care.  The  queen  had  discontinued  the  use  of 
rouge  when  she  became  a  widow,  and  never  re- 
sumed it,  having  discovered  that  her  own  natural 
slight  colour  was  more  becoming  than  were  the 
deep  tints  with  which  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
overlay  it.  Madame  de  Motteville  —  whose  exag- 
gerated praises  of  ^^cctte grande  reine''  are  so  sus- 
piciously like  covert  satire  —  informs  us  that  the 
real  object  of  the  queen's  desire  for  a  daylight 
ball  was  the  gratification  of  ^^  une  petite  vengeance!' 
The  ladies  of  the  Fronde  were  particularly  distaste- 
ful to  her,  and,  as  it  was  customary  to  rouge  very 
highly  when  en  grande  toilette,  the  queen  confessed 
that  she  "hoped  by  this  daylight  display  to  incon- 
venience and  annoy  them." 

The  ball,  nevertheless,  passed  off  satisfactorily. 
It  was  meant  to  seal  the  reconciliation  of  the  queen 
and  the  parliament ;  to  represent  a  shake-hands 
after  a  quarrel,  and  to  attest  the  loyal  feeling  of 
the  bourgeoisie  of  Paris  towards  their  king.  Night 
had  well  closed  in  before  the  princes  were  tired  of 
dancing,  and  until  they  were  it  was  not  permitted 
to  weary  courtier  or  cit  to  cry  "  Hold  !  enough  !  " 
The  royal  cortige  was  escorted  back  by  several 
hundreds  of  the  citizens,  bearing  torches.  Fre- 
quent were  the  shouts  of  "  Vive  le  roi!''  and  a 
good  ear  might  have  detected  a  response  of  ^^  Point 
de  Mazarin  !"  The  queen  is  said  to  have  heard  it, 
and  to  have  expressed  abhorrence  of  the  "  ungrate- 


LA    DUC HESSE   DE   LONGUEVILLE  1 9 

ful  canaille'''  she  had  been  lavishing  her  smiles  upon 
—  ^^  ces  7ficssienrs  du  parlcincnty 

The  Duchesse  de  Longiieville,  attended  by  M.  de 
la  Rochefoucauld,  appeared  at  this  ball.  She  was 
one  of  the  rare  belles  of  the  period  whose  beauty 
would  bear  the  test  of  daylight.  For  although 
there  is  much  talk  of  beauty  in  the  writings  of 
those  days,  it  is  probable  that  "the  fatal  gift  "  was 
accorded  to  but  few.  The  small-pox  made  fearful 
havoc  of  the  faces  of  the  French  women,  and  the 
prevalence  of  deformity  is  remarkable.  There  was 
scarcely  a  family  of  the  aristocracy  of  which  some 
member,  male  or  female,  had  not  a  curved  spine, 
a  distorted  limb,  or  other  malformation  ;  owing, 
most  likely,  to  the  common  practice  of  closely 
swathing  the  limbs  of  infants,  and  of  confiding 
young  children  to  the  charge  of  careless  and  igno- 
rant nurses  for  the  first  three  or  four  years  of 
their  lives.  But  the  beauty,  both  of  figure  and 
face,  of  the  Duchesse  de  Longueville  was  the 
theme  of  general  admiration,  and  apparently  it 
acted  as  a  spell  on  all,  except  her  husband,  who 
came  within  its  influence.  One  must,  therefore, 
believe  —  though  her  portraits  are  not  remarkable 
for  grace,  or  intelligent  expression  —  that  she  was 
a  very  lovely  woman.  It  was  perhaps  difficult  to 
portray  the  languor  of  manner  peculiar  to  her, 
which,  according  to  a  contemporary  (De  Retz), 
"  toncJiait  phis  que  le  brillant  de  celles  mimes  qui 
etaicnt plus  belles.     Elle  avait  aussij'  he  says,  '^uue 


20  OLD   PARIS 

langucur  mcmc  dans  V esprit,  qui  avait  scs  charmcs, 
pane  qiielle  avait  des  revcils  lumincux  et  siirpre- 
nantsy 

The  duke  is  described  as  "an  amiable  man  of 
mediocre  abilities."  At  Miinster,  roused  by  the 
admiration  the  duchess  excited,  and  the  honours 
that  were  paid  her,  he  fell  temporarily  into  the 
train  of  her  adorers,  but  was  unable  to  free  him- 
self entirely  from  the  trammels  of  Madame  de 
Montbazon  —  a  beauty  also,  but  of  a  different  type, 
and  the  one  who,  among  the  many  depraved  women 
of  the  court  of  Anne  of  Austria,  is  said  to  have 
^^  conserve  dans  Ic  vice  le  moindre  de  respect  ponr  la 
vertn."  And  there  were  among  them  such  women 
as  Nanon  Lastigue,  the  daughter  of  a  shopkeeper 
of  Agen.  She  possessed  neither  beauty  nor  wit, 
and  wit  and  culture  —  of  which  Mademoiselle  de 
Scudery  affords  an  instance  —  were  then  formid- 
able rivals  of  mere  personal  charms. 

But  this  Nanon  was  audacious  and  lively,  and 
she  was  the  mistress  of  the  Duke  d'Epernon,  who 
was  credited  with  having  poisoned  his  first  wife, 
the  natural  daughter  of  Henry  IV.  and  the  Mar- 
quise de  Verneuil.  He  afterwards  married  one  of 
Richelieu's  nieces,  and,  though  she  still  lived,  yet 
the  queen  received  Madame  Lastique,  whom  the 
duke,  who  was  attached  to  the  court,  presented  to 
her.  Where  he  had  any  authority,  he  exacted 
that  les  dames  de  qnalite  should  yield  precedence 
to   his    Nanon.      He   commanded  the   infantry  at 


DE   LA    ROCHEFOUCAULD  21 

that  time,  and  Mazarin,  being  desirous  of  securing 
the  Due  de  Candale  —  D'Epernon's  son — as  a 
husband  for  one  of  his  nieces,  made  a  point  of 
seeking  his  approbation  of  all  promotions,  and 
changes  in  that  corps,  before  confirming  them. 
Further  to  obtain  his  favour,  he  paid  visits  of  great 
ceremony  to  Nanon.  The  courtiers  and  grandes 
dames  followed  his  example,  and  the  queen  was 
most  gracious  to  her.  Still,  homage  to  D'Eper- 
non's ^'  fille  bourgeoise  "  was  but  grudgingly  paid 
(had  she  been  uiie  dame  de  la  coiir,  then,  of  course, 
it  would  have  been  autre  chose),  and  privately  Ma- 
zarin's  conduct  excited  much  indignation  and  com- 
ment. "  He  will  work  his  own  ruin,"  said  the 
courtiers,  "and  perhaps  even  that  of  the  state, 
in  his  infatuation  for  les  beaux  yeux  of  M.  de 
Candale." 

But  a  new  scandal  had  begun  to  occupy  the  at- 
tention of  this  virtuous  court.  Many  fair  shoulders 
were  shrugged ;  many  nicely  arched  eyebrows 
raised  ;  many  significant  glances  that  seemed  to 
say,  "Wasn't  I  right.'*  didn't  I  tell  you  so.?" 
were  furtively  exchanged  when  la  belle  diichesse, 
escorted  by  La  Rochefoucauld,  entered  the  salon 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Since  the  queen  had  failed 
in  her  promise  of  conferring  on  the  duke  the  gov- 
ernorship he  had  asked  for,  at  a  time  when  it 
seemed  that  wishes,  to  be  gratified,  had  but  to  be 
made  known,  he  had  deserted  her  party,  and,  de- 
termined  on    revenge,    attached    himself    to    the 


22  OLD   PARIS 

Prince  de  Conde.  Latterly,  he  had  been  most 
assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  Madame  de  Longue- 
ville,  of  whom  it  was  whispered  about  that  "al- 
though she  had  never  loved  her  husband  she  had 
at  last  begun  to  fear  him."  But  M.  de  Longue- 
ville  was  an  easy,  pleasant-tempered  man,  and  if 
not  a  devoted  husband,  by  no  means  a  jealous  one. 
After  the  Peace  of  Miinster  he  had  been  appointed 
Governor  of  Havre,  but  eventually  was  drawn  into 
taking  part  in  the  troubles  of  the  Fronde,  and  this 
through  the  enthusiasm  of  his  wife,  who  was  in- 
spired by  La  Rochefoucauld. 

Her  influence  in  her  family  was  immense.  The 
Prince  de  Conde  thought  and  acted  only  as  she 
bade  him  ;  and  it  was  to  turn  this  influence  to  ac- 
count, for  the  furtherance  of  his  own  political  ob- 
jects, that  La  Rochefoucauld  sought  to  find  favour 
in  her  eyes.  He  succeeded  only  too  well.  His 
manners  were  pleasing  and  insinuating,  and  he 
could  feign  love,  though  he  felt  none.  "  Ce  qui 
s  appclle  amoiireiix,''  says  Madame  de  Sevigne,  "yV 
lie  crois  pas  qiiil  rait  jamais  ///."  He  was  in- 
tensely selfish,  and  believed  all  the  world  to  be  as 
selfish  and  cynical  as  himself,  and  his  melancholy 
maxims.  He  tried  to  awaken  in  the  mind  of  the 
duchess  the  ambition  to  become  the  heroine  of  a 
great  party.  But,  naturally  of  a  languid  tempera- 
ment, and  fond  of  admiration,  politics  very  slightly 
interested  her.  It  required,  therefore,  the  stronger 
emotion  of  love  to  give  them  importance  in  her 


THE  DUCHESS  AN  ARDENT  FRONDEUSE     23 

eyes,  and  to  incite  her  to  enter,  heart  and  soul,  as 
she  did,  into  his  views.  He  controlled  her  abso- 
lutely; and,  to  serve  him,  she  devoted  herself  ar- 
dently, perseveringly,  to  that  section  of  the  Fronde 
of  which  he  was  one  of  the  chiefs  —  displaying,  in 
the  intrepidity  and  hardihood  of  her  proceedings, 
a  heroism  worthy  of  a  nobler  object  and  a  far 
better  cause. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Reassembling  of  the  Parliament.  —  The  Flight  from  Paris. — 
Mazarin  declared  a  Traitor.  —  "The  First  to  the  Corin- 
thians."—  A  Lodging  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  —  Birth  of 
Charles  Paris.  —  Les  Petits-Maitres.  —  Turenne  joins  the  Re- 
volt.—  Mazarin  retires  to  Cologne.  —  Conde  seeks  Aid  from 
Spain.  —  The  Peasantry  flock  to  Paris.  —  The  Siege  of  Bor- 
deaux.—  Turenne  and  Conde  at  Gien.  —  Conde  compared 
to  Cromwell.  —  The  Battle  of  la  Rue  Saint  Antoine. —  The 
modem  Bellona.  —  La  Rochefoucauld  wounded.  —  Made- 
moiselle and  her  Marechales.  —  They  enter  Orleans  in  Tri- 
umph.—  Mazarin  banished.  —  De  Retz  imprisoned;  his  Es- 
cape.—  The  Queen  recalls  Mazarin.  —  A  Heaven-born  Min- 
ister. 

jHEN  the  parliament  reassembled,  some 
very  stormy  discussions  took  place  ;  for 
Mazarin  had  not  fulfilled  the  terms  of 
the  Declaration.  He  and  the  queen  had  deter- 
mined on  leaving  Paris  secretly.  Only  Monsieur 
was  made  aware  of  their  intention  ;  but  when  on 
the  point  of  setting  out  —  at  near  midnight  on  the 
eve  of  th.Q  Jour  des  rots  —  the  Duchesse  de  Longue- 
ville  was  informed  of  it,  and  invited  to  accompany 
the  queen.  She  declined  to  do  so.  All  being  in 
readiness,  the  astonished  ladies  of  the  household 
were  desired  to  enter  the  carriages  that  were  in 
waiting,  and  the  queen  and  her  minister,  the  king 

24 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  PARIS  25 

and  his  brother,  and  their  attendants,  cautiously 
and  quietly,  but  with  as  much  speed  as  possible, 
proceeded  to  Saint  Germain. 

The  royal  palaces  were  at  that  time  but  very  ill 
prepared  for  an  unexpected  visit.  Mazarin  had 
taken  the  precaution  of  sending  on  three  camp- 
beds,  for  the  use  of  the  queen,  the  two  princes,  and 
himself.  The  rest  of  the  party,  amongst  whom 
was  La  Grande  Mademoiselle,  had  to  sleep  upon 
straw,  and  so  much  was  wanted  that  a  large  price 
had  to  be  paid  for  it ;  indeed,  either  for  love  or 
money,  it  was  with  difficulty  procured.  Men  had 
also  to  be  sent  into  the  woods  to  cut  fagots,  to 
create  a  cheerful  blaze  in  the  enormous  fireplaces, 
if  not  much  warmth  ;  the  queen  and  her  court, 
meanwhile,  being  compelled  to  wait,  shivering,  in 
the  bare,  cold,  carpetless  rooms. 

Queen  Henrietta,  at  the  Louvre,  was  suffering 
from  the  same  privation,  which  was,  indeed,  a  gen- 
eral, though  a  temporary  one.  The  coadjuteur, 
paying  her  a  visit  a  day  or  two  before  the  siege, 
found  her  sitting  by  her  daughter's  bedside.  "  I 
am  keeping  poor  Henrietta  company,"  she  said ; 
"  she  is  too  cold  to  get  up,  and  no  wood  is  to  be 
had  for  fires."  Mazarin  not  having  paid  her  pen- 
sion for  upwards  of  six  months,  she  was  reduced  to 
rely  on  the  supplies  furnished  to  the  palace  ;  these 
had  failed,  chiefly  because  the  army  of  the  Fronde 
was  absorbing  all  the  serving  men,  and  its  manoeu- 
vres amusing  the    serving   women.     The  coadju- 


26  OLD   PARIS 

teur  returned  to  the  parliament,  explained  to  them 
the  queen  of  England's  discomfort  from  the  negli- 
gence of  Mazarin,  and  immediately  they  voted,  and 
sent  over  for  her  use,  a  sum  of  twenty  thousand 
francs. 

The  flight  from  Paris  was  thought,  by  Anne  and 
her  minister,  to  be  a  very  bold  and  decided  step. 
In  a  few  days  they  expected  to  be  urged  to  return. 
But  instead  of  bringing  back  the  queen  and  her 
cardinal  in  triumph,  the  parliament,  on  the  8th 
of  January,  issued  their  famous  decree  declaring 
Mazarin  an  enemy  to  the  sovereign  and  to  the 
state,  and  a  disturber  of  the  public  peace.  All 
good  subjects  of  the  king  were  "enjoined  to  fall 
upon  and  seize  the  traitor,  whensoever  and  where- 
soever they  might  come  upon  him,  and  to  deliver 
him  up  to  justice." 

The  coadjuteur,  compelled  to  decide  for  the 
court  or  the  parliament,  declared  for  the  latter, 
and  carried  the  regular  clergy  of  Paris  with  him. 
Four  thousand  horse  and  ten  thousand  infantry 
were  raised,  and  were  commanded  by  the  Dukes 
d'Elboeuf,  de  Longueville,  de  Bouillon,  and  de 
Beaufort  (who  had  recently  escaped  from  Vin- 
cennes),  with  the  Prince  de  Conti  as  "  Generalissimo 
of  the  armies  of  Paris."  Monsieur  le  Due  d' Or- 
leans, who  could  not  make  up  his  mind  which  side 
to  espouse,  to  avoid  taking  any  part  in  the  civil 
war,  went  to  bed  and  pretended  to  have  the  gout. 
But  the  revolt   was   now  organized,  the  gauntlet 


"  THE   FIRST   TO    THE    CORINTHIANS"        2  J 

thrown  down,  and  the  siege  of  Paris,  which  began 
on  the  9th  of  January,  continued  for  three  months. 
A  regiment,  raised  at  the  expense  of  the  coadju- 
teur,  and  commanded  by  the  Chevalier  de  Sevigne, 
was  called  the  ^^  regiment  de  Cointhe,"  of  which 
place  he  was  titular  bishop.  To  meet  regular 
troops  it  went  forth  in  high  glee,  in  all  the  pride 
of  a  showy  uniform,  flying  feathers  and  banners. 
At  the  first  check  it  received,  it  displayed  its 
valour  by  discreetly  running  away,  and  its  prowess 
was  celebrated  by  the  satirical  song-writers  as 
"The  first  to  the  Corinthians."  Every  event  of 
this  memorable  siege  afforded  food  for  mirth  and 
raillery.  Amidst  general  disorder  there  was  gen- 
eral gaiety,  light-heart edness,  and  esprit. 

Of  the  chiefs  of  the  revolt,  none  knew  exactly 
what  he  wanted,  consequently  there  was  no  union 
among  them.  This  probably  saved  the  crown 
from  slipping  from  the  head  of  Louis  XIV.  to  that 
of  the  Grand  Conde,  who  doubtless,  had  he  made 
it  his  aim,  might  have  worn  it.  But  civil  war  was 
repugnant  to  his  principles,  though  circumstances 
eventually  drew  him  into  it. 

When  Madame  de  Longueville  appeared  on  the 
scene,  she  was  about  to  be  confined,  and  instead 
of  her  own  hotel,  she  selected  for  the  purpose,  "  in 
order  to  give  confidence  to  the  people,"  the  Hotel 
de  Ville.  She  and  her  step-daughter  (afterwards 
Duchess  de  Nemours)  were,  on  their  arrival,  con-, 
ducted  to  the  registrar's  room,  which  appears  to 


28  OLD   PARIS 

have  been  unfurnished,  or  nearly  so.  But  the 
Hotel  de  Longueville  was  not  far  off,  and  orders 
were  sent  thither  to  bring  over  beds  and  chairs 
for  the  ladies.  Apologies  were  made  for  the  bad 
fastenings  of  the  doors  and  windows.  This  incon- 
venience they  made  light  of,  but  inquired  particu- 
larly if  there  were  rats  in  the  room.  "  A  few, 
only,"  the  attendants  thought.  However,  the 
duchess  sent  again  to  her  hotel  for  three  or  four 
cats.  On  \)i\Q  fete  of  Charlemagne  she  gave  birth 
to  a  son,  who  was  christened  Charles  Paris.  The 
Corps  Municipal  assisted  at  his  baptism,  represent- 
ing the  city  of  Paris  as  his  sponsor.  He  was 
placed  in  a  cradle  on  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  with  a  guard  of  honour  stationed  near  to 
protect  him.  The  troops  defiled,  and  the  various 
trades  passed  in  procession  before  him.  The  pois- 
sardes  and  dames  de  la  Halle  came  to  look  at  this 
wonderful  infant,  and  to  give  him  a  blessing  and  a 
kiss.  Though  it  was  winter,  they  brought  an 
abundance  of  violets  and  spring  flowers,  wherewith 
to  deck  his  cradle,  which  was  entirely  covered  with 
their  floral  offerings.  The  duchess,  in  heroic  verse, 
was  compared  to  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  and 
to  Livia  offering  her  child  on  the  altar  of  her 
country. 

Charles  I.  was  beheaded  at  this  time,  and  the 
event  filled  the  court  with  consternation.  The 
queen  earnestly  entreated  the  protection  of  the 
Prince  de  Conde  for  herself  and  sons.     The  prince 


LES  PETITS-MAITRES  29 

considered  that  his  services  had  been  inadequately 
rewarded ;  that  the  court  and  the  queen  were  un- 
grateful ;  yet  he  determined  to  defend  the  king 
against  the  Fronde.  The  parliament  had  been  en- 
deavouring to  overcome  his  hesitation,  and  to  pre- 
vail on  him  to  give  them  his  support,  and  their 
cause  the  prestige  of  his  name.  He  was  now  to 
appear  in  arms  against  them,  and  they  did  not 
shrink  from  the  encounter.  But  so  violent  had 
the  meetings  of  this  assembly  become,  that  the 
Due  de  Brissac  urged  the  coadjuteur  not  to  attend 
them  unarmed,  and  brought  him  a  poniard  to  wear 
under  his  soutane.  The  handle  of  this  weapon 
being  on  one  occasion  partly  visible,  the  Due  de 
Beaufort  called  attention  to  it,  at  the  same  time 
exclaiming  :  "  Voild  le  breviaire  de  notre  coadjuteur^ 
This,  as  usual,  caused  much  raillery,  and  became 
the  subject  of  many  an  epigram  and  satirical 
couplet. 

The  Prince  de  Conde  —  again  dissatisfied,  and 
believing  his  services  insufficiently  appreciated  — 
having  succeeded  in  bringing  back  the  queen  and 
her  court  triumphantly  to  Paris,  immediately  after 
joined  the  party  that  ridiculed  and  contemned 
them.  His  brother,  De  Conti,  the  Due  de  Longue- 
ville,  and  others,  separated  from  the  Fronde,  and, 
with  the  prince,  formed  the  faction  known  as  "  Les 
Petits-Maitresy  Their  object  was  to  overthrow 
the  favourite  minister.  But  Mazarin,  by  a  ruse  — 
for  the  success  of  which  the  queen  was  on  her 


30  OLD   PARIS 

knees  praying  in  her  oratory,  with  her  son  by  her 
side  —  arrested  them  in  the  Louvre,  and  sent  them 
to  Vincennes.  Mazarin  feared  the  prince,  and  de- 
chned  to  set  him  at  Hberty,  when  La  Rochefou- 
cauld and  the  Due  de  Bouillon  offered,  as  hostages, 
to  take  his  place.  A  proposal  was  also  made  to 
Mazarin  to  give  his  niece,  Mdlle.  Martinozzi,  in 
marriage  to  the  Prince  de  Conti,  and  this,  subse- 
quently, at  a  more  convenient  season,  he  assented 
to. 

Madame  de  Longueville,  in  the  meantime,  fled 
to  Holland,  and  prevailed  on  Turenne  to  turn  the 
army  he  commanded,  in  the  king's  name,  against 
the  royalist  troops.  The  pleadings  of  beauty  in 
tears  overcame  his  sense  of  duty,  great  captain 
though  he  was.  Btit  his  second  in  command, 
Count  d'Erlach,  was  made  of  sterner  stuff,  and  so 
vehemently  opposed  the  orders  of  his  general,  and 
resisted  any  tampering  with  the  men,  that  Turenne 
left  his  army,  joined  the  Spaniards,  who  were  in 
arms  against  France,  and  ^^ partoiit  il  appelait,  et 
avec  succes,  les  bons  bourgeois  a  la  revolted  It 
being  feared  that  he  would  march  on  Paris  and  set 
the  princes  free,  the  Due  d' Orleans  —  who  inclined 
first  to  one  party,  then  to  the  other,  but  desired  to 
be  of  neither  —  suggested  their  removal  to  the 
Bastille.  Mazarin  and  the  queen  were  aware  that 
such  a  step  would  too  greatly  excite  the  people ; 
therefore,  with  the  utmost  secrecy  and  caution, 
they  sent  their  captives  to  Havre. 


MAZARIN  RETIRES    TO   COLOGNE  3 1 

But  all  France,  and  the  parliament  of  the 
Fronde  at  its  head,  demanded  the  release  of  the 
Grand  Conde  ;  for  the  duchess,  flying  from  province 
to  province,  had  everywhere  roused  the  indignation 
of  the  people,  and  incited  them  to  rebel.  Anne 
and  her  minister  were  compelled  to  yield ;  the  lat- 
ter in  person  going  to  Havre  to  restore  the  princes 
to  liberty.  He  was  treated  with  so  much  con- 
tempt that  he  did  not  venture  to  return,  but  re- 
tired, first  to  Liege,  then  to  Cologne.  The  Due 
de  Longueyille  gave  up  public  life,  and  repaired  to 
his  estates.  Conde  was  received  in  Paris  with 
transports  of  joy.  The  coadjuteur  then  became 
Cardinal  de  Retz,  by  the  nomination  of  the  queen, 
which  was  confirmed  the  following  year  by  Pope 
Innocent  X.,  who  hated  Mazarin,  and  wished  suc- 
cess to  the  Fronde. 

Still  civil  war  raged.  The  Grand  Conde,  so 
lately  hailed  as  the  "saviour  of  France,"  could  ill 
brook  the  idea  of  having  been  incarcerated,  and 
again  set  free,  at  the  will  of  a  court  favourite  —  an 
Italian  priest,  abhorred  by  the  nation.  Wounded 
pride  resented  this  insult.  He  resolved  on  war — 
war  against  "  le  Mazarin  ;  "  and  however  parties 
were  divided  amongst  themselves  and  split  into 
innumerable  sections,  all  were  agreed  in  crying  out 
^^  Point  de  Alasarin."  The  prince  set  out  from 
Paris  to  raise  the  standard  of  revolt  at  Guienne, 
Poitou,  and  Anjou,  and  to  seek  the  aid  of  Spanish 
troops.     The  susceptible  Turenne,  meanwhile,  who 


32  OLD   PARIS 

had  thrown  up  his  command  and  become  a  rebel, 
for  the  sake  of  Ics  beaux  yeiix  of  Madame  de 
Longueville,  finding  that  her  smiles  were  given 
to  another,  left  the  Spaniards  and  made  his  peace 
with  the  court.  As  there  was  no  one  with  equal 
ability  to  put  in  his  place,  and  oppose  to  Conde, 
he  was  pardoned,  and  restored  to  the  command  of 
the  royal  army. 

Mazarin  took  this  opportunity  of  leaving  Cologne 
and  returning  to  France,  with  7,000  troops  he  had 
raised  to  escort  him  back,  and  who  wore  green,  like 
his  liveries,  as  facings  to  their  uniform.  Immedi- 
ately, the  parliament  set  a  price  on  his  head,  and 
sold  his  books,  his  pictures,  and  the  furniture  of 
his  palace, to  raise  the  50,000  crowns  they  named 
as  the  reward.  Lampoons  innumerable  then  ap- 
peared, offering  so  much  for  his  ears,  so  much  for 
his  nose,  and  so  on.  Never  were  misery  and  mirth 
so  combined  as  in  this  war  of  the  Fronde.  A  party 
went  forth  boldly  to  break  down  the  bridges  over 
which  the  cardinal  and  his  army  were  to  pass. 
Several  were  taken  prisoners ;  a  scramble  ensued 
for  their  release,  which,  after  some  ludicrous  ad- 
ventures, heavy  blows  on  both  sides,  and  plenty  of 
jibes  and  jests,  was  effected. 

Mazarin,  having  joined  the  queen,  they  also, 
accompanied  by  the  king  and  his  brother,  Made- 
moiselle, and  some  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the 
household,  set  out  to  make  a  tour  of  the  provinces, 
with  the  view  of  kindling  loyalty.     The  queen  was 


THE   PEASAXTRY  FLOCK   TO   PARIS  33 

not  well  received ;  but  the  ill-feeling  displayed 
towards  the  cardinal  annoyed  her  even  more  than 
the  cold  reception  she  met  with  herself.  The 
peasantry  and  provincial  noblesse  had  fled  to  Paris, 
where  tumult  and  faction  reigned.  The  camp-beds 
followed  the  royal  party,  and  were  often  delayed 
three  or  four  hours  eji  route ;  the  queen  and  ladies 
seeking  shelter  in  wretched  inns  —  the  rooms  they 
were  shown  into  having  rarely  any  other  furniture 
than  an  old  wooden  table  or  chair.  The  king  and 
his  brother  seem  rather  to  have  enjoyed  this 
"roughing  it"  on  their  journey.  "  They  amused 
themselves  greatly ;  played  and  fought  and  learned 
nothing  at  all,  except  that  they  were  very  great 
personages,"  though  temporarily  under  a  cloud. 

Bordeaux  was  wholly  devoted  to  Conde.  His 
wife  and  child  crossed  France,  in  disguise,  under 
the  escort  of  the  Conseiller  Lenet,  to  seek  refuge 
there  with  her  husband.  The  princess  sustained 
a  siege  of  the  city,  and  all  the  partizans  of  the 
prince  were  assembled  there.  He  himself  was 
scouring  the  country,  everywhere  victorious,  tak- 
ing cities  and  towns,  while  his  Spanish  allies,  and 
the  detachments  of  troops  raised  by  his  friends, 
were  pursuing  the  court,  whose  only  hope  was  then 
in  Turenne.  A  part  of  Conde' s  army  was  stationed 
near  him,  at  Gien,  but  it  was  commanded  by  the 
Dues  de  Beaufort  and  Nemours,  whose  continual 
disputes  —  ending  in  a  duel  in  which  Nemours  was 
killed  —  dispirited    their  men,  who,  knowing   that 


34  OLD   PA  JUS 

Conde  was  a  hundred  leagues  off,  believed  that 
they  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  royalists. 
But,  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  the  sentinels  at  the 
outposts  in  the  forest  of  Orleans  are  challenged 
by  a  courier,  and  the  courier  proves  to  be  the 
great  Conde  himself.  In  various  disguises,  and 
encountering  numerous  obstacles  and  adventures 
by  the  way,  he  has  come  from  Agen  to  head  his 
army. 

The  confidence  of  the  soldiers  revived.  The 
royalists  at  Blenau  were  surprised,  defeated,  and 
dispersed,  and  only  the  ability  with  which  Turenne, 
with  the  troops  that  remained  to  him,  thwarted 
the  movements  of  the  victorious  Conde,  prevented 
him  from  taking  captive  the  royal  party  at  Gien. 
Conde,  therefore,  marched  directly  towards  Paris. 
The  people  were  rejoicing  over  the  battle  of  Blenau. 
But  Paris  was  a  scene  of  anarchy.  The  soldiers 
pillaged  with  impunity,  and  there  were  perpetual 
quarrels  between  them  and  their  officers.  The 
chiefs  of  the  Fronde  were  negotiating,  sending 
deputations,  assembling  the  chambers ;  the  popu- 
lace were  seditious,  and  guards  were  placed  at  the 
doors  of  the  monasteries. 

Mademoiselle  had  been  a  keen  observer  of  all 
that  had  passed  while  journeying  from  town  to 
town  with  the  royal  party.  Her  report  of  it  to 
her  father,  and  her  admiration  of  the  heroism  of 
Conde,  fixed  for  a  moment  even  his  wavering  mind. 
Immediately  he  assembled  troops  to  oppose  the  re- 


CONDE    COMPARED    TO    CROMWELL  35 

turn  of  Mazarin  ;  then,  alarmed  at  his  own  boldness, 
retired  to  the  Luxembourg  Palace.  Conde's  small 
army  of  about 7,000  men,  officered  by  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  les  grands  seigneurs,  was  quartered  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  Turenne,  with  about 
the  same  number  of  troops,  had  brought  the  court 
as  far  as  Charonne ;  but  he  dared  not  enter  Paris. 
The  people,  alarmed,  shut  the  gates  of  the  city, 
excluding  both  armies,  and  carried  the  shrine  of 
Ste.  Genevieve  in  procession,  with  prayers  and 
invocations  that  the  saint  would  deliver  them  from 
"le  Mazarin."  The  coadjuteur,  become  cardinal, 
was  less  popular  than  before,  but  the  cures  of  the 
old  city  still  were  prominent  Frondenrs. 

Mazarin  compared  the  parliament  of  Paris  to 
that  of  England,  and  Conde  and  his  adherents  to 
Cromwell  and  Fairfax.  He  found  means  of  con- 
veying to  Mademoiselle  a  promise  that  she  should 
marry  the  king,  if  she  would  prevent  her  father 
from  joining  the  Prince  de  Conde.  Full  half  of 
the  royal  diadems  of  Europe  had  been  placed  at 
her  feet,  and  she  had  rejected  them  all;  but  she 
was  supposed  to  be  very  desirous  of  wearing  the 
crown  of  France,  though  she  was  then  twenty-six, 
and  the  king  but  fourteen.  She,  however,  made 
a  jest  of  the  cardinal's  proposal,  and  replied  to 
it,  "  Qite  la  parole  donne  aux  princes  on  la  tiend- 
raity 

Then  began  that  desperate  battle  of  St.  An- 
toine, in  which  the  two  greatest  of  French  gen- 


36  OLD    PARIS 

erals  and  the  elite  of  the  noblesse  were  arrayed 
against  each  other,  and  some  of  the  best  blood 
of  France  was  shed.  While  the  battle  was  rag- 
ing, the  king  and  his  brother  were  taken  to  the 
heights  of  Charonne,  whence  they  could  obtain  a 
view  of  it ;  and  the  ignorant  and  selfish  queen- 
regent,  who  cared  naught  for  the  wishes  of  the 
nation,  or  the  misery  endured  by  the  people,  so 
that  her  Italian  priest  could  be  retained  at  her 
side,  was  praying  in  a  chapel  of  the  Carmelite 
convent  for  the  success  of  Turenne,  and  of  Maza- 
rin's  partizans.  Terror-stricken  ladies  and  chil- 
dren, shut  up  in  the  city,  fled  for  refuge  to  the 
church  of  St.  Roch,  and  were  in  some  cases 
very  roughly  treated  by  Frondeurs,  who  were  ran- 
sacking the  edifice  in  a  pretended  search  for  Maz- 
arinists.  The  hotels  of  the  nobility  were  entered 
and  pillaged,  and  lawlessness  of  every  kind  reigned 
in  the  city. 

At  the  gates  of  St.  Antoine  lay  the  wounded 
of  both  armies,  and  to  both  admittance  was 
refused.  Gaston  d' Orleans,  utterly  destitute  of 
energy  of  will,  and  veering  from  one  party  to 
another,  according  to  the  views  of  the  last  person 
he  had  spoken  with,  remained  at  the  Luxem- 
bourg, still  irresolute  as  to  what  course  he  should 
take.  His  daughter,  possessing  the  force  of  char- 
acter wanting  in  her  father,  decided  that  course 
for  him.  She  presented  to  him  an  order  to 
the  magistracy  to  open  the  gates  forthwith.     He 


A    MODERN  B  ELLON  A  3/ 

signed  it  ;  and  immediately  she  set  out  and  deliv- 
ered it.  Proceeding  to  the  Bastille,  she  desired 
the  commander  Broiissel,  son  of  the  counseiller, 
to  point  the  cannon  and  fire  on  the  royal  army. 
They  were  pointed,  as  a  menace,  but  Broussel 
declined  to  take  upon  himself  to  fire  them  ;  she, 
however,  less  mindful  of  consequences,  had  the 
courage  to  apply  the  match  herself.  This  daring 
and  unlooked-for  act  spread  consternation  amongst 
the  soldiers  of  Turenne,  and  compelled  him  to 
withdraw  them.  The  victorious  Conde  then  en- 
tered Paris. 

Descending  from  the  Bastille,  with  a  bunch  of 
straw  bound  on  her  head,  this  modern  Bellona  rode 
through  the  city,  crying,  "  Ceiix  qui  nc  sont  pas  dii 
pa7'ti  de  Mazarin  prcnncnt  la  paille  ;  sinon  Us  seront 
saccages  comme  tels!'  None,  whether  partizans  or 
not,  were  willing  to  sacrifice  themselves  for  the 
hated  cardinal ;  so  that  priests  and  laity,  women 
and  children,  sought  bunches  of  straw  for  their 
hats,  to  escape  the  fury  of  the  inpouring  army. 
The  conduct  of  Mademoiselle  de  Montpensier 
roused  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  to  such  a 
pitch  that  they  hailed  her  as  ''fille  romaine  "  and 
"  ridole  dn  pcnple!'  The  number  of  killed  and 
wounded,  on  both  sides,  in  this  battle  of  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Antoine  (2nd  July,  1652),  was  large  in 
comparison  with  the  smallness  of  the  armies.  They 
fought  with  obstinacy  and  desperation,  inspired  by 
intense  mutual  hatred,  and  the  carnage  was  great. 


38  OLD   PARIS 

A  nephew  of  Mazarin  being  killed  with  the  royal- 
ists, the  people  thanked  Ste.  Gen^vi^ve  for  this 
proof  of  her  sympathy  with  the  Fronde.  La 
Rochefoucauld,  who  is  said  to  have  fought  with 
great  bravery,  received  a  wound,  just  above  the 
eyes,  which  for  a  time  deprived  him  of  sight.  With 
reference  to  this,  he  parodied  the  well-known  lines 
in  Du  Ryer's  tragedy  of  "Alcyonee,"  and  addressed 
them  to  the  Duchess  de  Longueville : 

"  Pour  meriter  ce  cceur  qu'enfin  je  connais  mieux, 
J'ai  fais  la  guerre  au  roi,  j'en  ai  perdu  les  yeux." 

He  fancied  that  she  no  longer  served  his  interests 
with  zeal,  but  inclined  rather  to  favour  the  Due  de 
Nemours,  of  whom  he  was  jealous,  and  who  was 
soon  after  killed  in  a  duel. 

But  the  opening  of  the  gates  of  Paris  and  the 
firing  of  the  cannon  of  the  Bastille  were  not  the 
only  services  of  Mademoiselle  to  the  prince  she  so 
enthusiastically  admired.  Another  proof  of  her 
energy  and  courage  was  given  in  her  expedition  to 
Orleans,  which  city  was  part  of  the  appanage  of 
her  father.  The  Orleanists  had  closed  their  gates 
to  prevent  the  entry  of  either  army ;  but  the  Coun- 
cil of  Paris  had  determined  to  take  possession  of  it. 
Mademoiselle  offered  to  head  the  tons  botirgcois  for 
that  purpose.  "Many  Roman  women,"  she  said, 
"had  performed  similar  acts,  and  why  should  not 
she  show  the  people  the  path  of  duty.''"  Her  offer 
was  not  very  readily  accepted.    The  enterprise  was 


MADEMOISELLE   AND   HER  MARI&CHALES   39 

thought  to  be  one  unsuited  to  her  sex,  and,  hero- 
ine though  she  had  shown  herself,  some  doubted 
her  discretion. 

She,  however,  prevailed.  The  Countesses  de 
Fiesque  and  de  Frontignac  accompanied  her;  also 
a  small  retinue  and  an  escort  of  troops.  Made- 
moiselle and  her  inarechales  de  camp  were  attired 
en  amasone,  and  wore  helmets  and  swords.  On 
arriving  at  the  gates  of  Orleans,  they  found  there 
the  Garde  des  Sceaux  with  a  cortege  of  forty  car- 
riages. He  had  been  sent  by  Mazarin  to  hold  the 
town  for  the  king.  But  the  magistrates  of  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  kept  him  outside  the  gates  while 
they  deliberated  whether  to  open  to  him  or  not. 
The  question  became  more  difficult  and  compli- 
cated when  the  princess,  also,  demanded  admit- 
tance. She,  too,  was  kept  waiting  :  becoming  very 
impatient  at  the  delay,  she  galloped,  with  her  reti- 
nue, under  the  rampart  on  the  side  next  the  Loire. 
Some  admiring  boatmen  pointed  out  to  her  a  door 
in  the  rampart  that  had  been  walled  up,  and  offered 
to  make  an  opening  in  it.  Frondeitrs  inside,  on 
learning  what  was  going  on  without,  aided  from 
within,  and  soon  the  victorious  Mademoiselle,  her 
marecJiales  following  her,  mounted  the  breach,  en- 
tered the  city,  harangued  the  people,  and  was  con- 
ducted in  triumph  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Young, 
handsome,  and  full  of  courage,  her  presence  and 
her  eloquent  words  speedily  turned  the  scale  against 
Mazarin's  envoy^,  who,  much  discomfited,  was  com- 


40  OLD  PARIS 

pelled,  with  his  forty  carriages,  to  return  by  the  way 
he  came. 

Thus  this  enterprise,  which,  failing,  would  have 
been  utterly  ridiculous,  by  its  signal  success  placed 
a  very  fine  feather  in  the  helmet  of  la  grande  Made- 
moiselle. She  assisted  at  the  councils  of  war,  and 
gave  her  opinion  freely  on  the  conduct  of  military 
affairs.  She  says,  with  reference  to  it,  '■^f  assure 
cji  ccla  le  bon  sens,  comme  e7i  toiite  autre  circo7tstance, 
rkgle  tout ;  ct  que  lorsqii  on  en  a  avcc  du  courage, 
il  ny  a  point  de  dame  qui  ne  commanddt  bien  des 
arme'es." 

The  sanguinary  "  Journee  du  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine  "  was  followed  by  a  general  demand  for 
the  final  expulsion  of  Mazarin.  And  the  queen, 
that  she  might  be  allowed  again  to  enter  Paris, 
once  more  consented  to  sacrifice  her  minister. 
The  king  was  required  to  publish  a  formal  declara- 
tion of  his  dismissal.  This  request  was  also  com- 
plied with,  though  at  the  same  time  he,  or  rather 
the  queen,  vaunted  the  services  of  Mazarin  and 
complained  of  the  injustice  of  banishing  him.  As 
soon  as  he  had  taken  his  departure  for  Bouillon, 
the  citizens  invited  the  king  to  reenter  the  capital. 
The  court  found  the  city  as  quiet  and  orderly  as 
though  nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  it ;  for 
Paris  was  under  the  delusion  that  it  had  seen  the 
last  of  "le  Mazarin." 

It  was  not  expedient  to  be  rigorous  towards  the 
Frondeurs,  but  some  few  arrests  were  made,  and 


DE   RETZ  IMPRISONED  4 1 

the  Due  d' Orleans  was  requested  to  retire  to  Blois, 
where  he  remained  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  La 
Rochefoucauld  and  other  rebel  gratids  seigneurs 
found  means  of  making  their  peace  with  the 
queen.  But  the  Cardinal  de  Retz  was  arrested 
in  the  Louvre,  and  sent  from  prison  to  prison. 
He  escaped  to  Rome,  and  led  for  some  years  a 
wandering  life.  On  consenting  to  resign  his  arch- 
bishopric of  Paris,  he  was  allowed  to  return  to 
France,  where  he  lived  in  retirement,  in  order  to 
pay  off  the  immense  debts  he  had  contracted.  His 
character  and  conduct  were  changed,  and  to  use 
the  words  of  Desormeaux,  "  aprh  avoir  scandalisi 
la  terre,  il  V edifia!''  The  heroines  of  the  Fronde, 
in  disgrace  with  the  queen  and  the  court,  remained 
in  seclusion  at  their  chateaux — the  duchess,  repent- 
ing her  errors  ;  Mademoiselle,  amusing  herself  with 
literature,  and  enjoying  the  society  of  a  circle  of 
intimate  friends. 

But  scarcely  had  the  Parisians  settled  down  to 
a  quiet  life,  exhausted  by  their  nine  years'  struggle 
to  free  France  from  the  yoke  of  "le  Mazarin," 
than,  in  the  name  of  the  king — who  had  publicly 
declared  him  forever  banished  the  kingdom  — 
the  queen  recalled  him.  He  entered  Paris,  as  a  sov- 
ereign returning  to  the  capital  of  his  kingdom,  and 
the  king  and  his  brother  —  brought  up  by  their 
mother  to  pay  him  the  obedience  and  respect  due 
to  a  father  —  received  him  as  such.  The  people 
being  weary  of  resistance,  scarcely  any  opposition 


42  OLD   PARIS 

was  shown  towards  him.  His  partizans  even  man- 
aged to  have  a///^  arranged  for  him  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville.  He  threw  money  with  a  lavish  hand 
amongst  the  populace  as  he  passed  through  the 
streets,  and  "  Vive  Ic  Mazarm  "  at  once  rose  above 
the  cry  "A  das  /Vta/icu."  He  himself  is  said  to 
have  expressed  contempt  for  the  inconstancy  of 
the  people.  He  urged  and  obtained  the  condem- 
nation to  death,  for  contumacy,  of  the  Grand 
Conde,  whom  Philip  IV.  had  made  general-in-chief 
of  the  armies  of  Spain.  Yet,  at  about  the  same 
time,  the  Prince  dp  Conti  married  Mazarin's 
niece,  Anna  Martinozzi  —  so  inconsistent  were  the 
acts  of  all  who  were  connected  with  the  Fronde. 

Mazarin,  in  fact,  reigned  once  more,  and,  the 
spirit  of  the  nation  being  humbled,  reigned  abso- 
lutely—  far  more  so  than  ever  Richelieu,  or  any 
minister  of  France  before  him  had  done.  When 
murmurs  at  his  oppressive  exactions  reached  his 
ears,  he  would  say,  "  A/i !  laissons  crier  les  poules 
dont  nous  mange ons  les  cettfs.'^  There  was  no 
question  of  the  king  in  the  government  of  the 
country,  or,  indeed,  of  the  queen,  whom  he  was  no 
longer  solicitous  to  please,  all  power  being  in  his 
hands.  Yet  Anne  of  Austria,  in  her  deep  piety, 
daily  thanked  God,  in  her  oratory,  for  crushing 
and  dispersing  those  enemies  of  the  state  who 
had  sought  to  deprive  France  of  so  beneficent  and 
heaven-born  a  minister  as  "/<?  dotix  cardinal.'^ 


CHAPTER    IV. 

La  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie.  —  Le  Petit  Paul  Scarron.  —  Fran9oise 
d'Aubigne.  —  Mortified  Vanity.  —  Scarron's  Offer  of  Mar- 
riage.—  La  belle  Madame  Scarron.  —  Her  Brilliant  Salon. — 
Celebrities  of  the  Day.  —  Les  Dames  Frondeuses.  —  Char- 
acter of  Madame  Scarron.  —  Her  Desire  for  "Considera- 
tion."—  Disappointing  when  Attained. 

[N  the  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie,  and  in  one 
of  those  old  maisons  bourgeoises  of  the 
better    class,  with    angular   turrets,  of 
which   so  few  examples   now   remain    in   modern 
Paris,  there  lived  in  the  time  of  the  Fronde  the 
famous    humourist    and  bel  esprit,   Paul   Scarron. 
And  a  pitiable  object,  indeed,  to  look  upon  was 
"/^  paiivre petit  Scarron,"  with  his  contracted  and 
distorted  limbs,  and  his  head  bowed  down  on  his 
chest.     He  suffered  severely  from  acute  rheuma- 
tism, brought  on  by  careless  exposure  to  cold  and 
damp  in  the  wild  days  of  his  youth.     Now,  a  help- 
less  cripple,  he  is   confined  to   his  house,  and  is 
wheeled  from  room  to  room  in  a  chair.     There  is 
attached  to  it  a  sort  of  desk  or  table,  with  writing 
materials,  and  when  alone  he  dashes  off  easily  and 
rapidly    being  even  as  nimble  with  his  fingers  as 
he  is  ready  with  his  wit  —  many  a  keenly  satirical 
couplet  and  many  a  bitter  lampoon. 
43 


44  OLD  PARIS 

During  the  Fronde,  Scarron's  house  was  the 
head-quarters  of  those  lively,  scurrilous  pamphlet- 
eers, of  whom  he  was  regarded  as  the  chief.  The 
"  Mazarinades  "  were  the  product  of  his  pen,  and 
much  of  the  witty  and  licentious  literature  of  the 
Fronde  was  issued  under  his  auspices,  when  he 
was  not  actually  its  author.  The  Fronde  divided 
families,  separated  friends,  and  had  broken-up 
society.  Many  of  the  noblesse  had  fled  from  Paris  ; 
those  that  remained,  in  a  great  measure,  secluded 
themselves  and  watched  the  course  of  events,  in- 
clining ever  to  the  winning  side,  whether  it  were 
the  court  or  the  parliament.  Yet,  twice  or  thrice 
in  the  week,  there  assembled  at  Scarron's  all  that 
Paris  then  contained  of  the  wealthy,  the  witty,  the 
noble,  the  learned,  and  the  most  distinguished  of 
both  sexes.  And  the  attraction  was  simply  Scar- 
ron.  For,  notwithstanding  his  affliction,  and, 
often,  intense  sufferings,  there  was  not,  perhaps, 
in  all  France  a  man  of  more  gaiety  and  good- 
humour,  of  more  sprightly  fancy,  more  varied  in- 
formation, and  keener  wit,  or  whose  society  was 
more  generally  liked  and  sought  after. 

In  165 1,  Scarron,  then  in  his  forty-first  year, 
married  a  pretty  young  girl  of  sweet  sixteen. 
Compassion  for  a  poor  friendless  orphan  was  his 
motive ;  a  desire  to  escape  the  fate  of  a  convent 
drudge  was  hers.  For  Fran^oise  d'Aubigne 
(afterwards  Madame  de  Maintenon),  the  grand- 
daughter of  the  famous  Calvinist  chief,  Agrippa 


FRAXCOISE   D'AUBIGNE  45 

d'Aubigne,  having  lost  at  an  early  age  both  father 
and  mother,  had  been  received  by  a  distant  rela- 
tive, Madame  de  Neuillant,  who  proposed  to  her- 
self the  pious  task  of  bringing  the  little  heretic 
into  the  fold  of  the  faithful.  With  some  difficulty 
this  was  accomplished.  Madame  de  Neuillant, 
having  saved  the  soul  of  her  young  relative,  be- 
came anxious  to  give  up  the  charge  of  her  to  any 
religious  community  who  would  be  willing  to  take 
her  without  the  usual  dot,  towards  which  her 
family  connections,  both  Protestant  and  Catholic, 
had  declined  to  contribute. 

She  had  been  carefully  educated  by  her  mother, 
up  to  the  age  of  fourteen,  and  she  could  embroider 
with  marvellous  skill  —  advantages  which  Madame 
de  Neuillant  considered  might  be  turned  to  account, 
and  compensate  for  the  pecuniary  deficiency. 
Meanwhile,  she  made  Frangoise  very  useful  as  a 
servant.  As  such,  she  attended  her  kind  relative 
one  evening  to  the  Rue  de  la  Tixeranderie.  She 
had  but  lately  arrived  from  Niort.  The  elegant 
dresses,  therefore,  of  the  free-and-easy  ladies  as- 
sembled at  Scarron's,  and  even  the  metamorphosis 
she  observed  in  Madame  de  Neuillant's  toilette, 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  her,  from  the  con- 
trast between  them  and  her  own  old-fashioned, 
shabby  attire.  The  more  she  surveyed  the  long, 
sweeping  trains,  the  more  she  became  conscious 
that  her  short  cotton  frock  displayed  at  least  a 
quarter  of  a  yard  of  her  legs  above  the  ankles. 


46  OLD   PARIS 

She  blushed  with  shame  and  vexation,  in  the  ob- 
scure corner  she  had  been  permitted  to  stand  in 
to  have  a  view  of  the  fine  folks  as  they  entered. 
There  were  silks  and  satins,  and  lace  and  pearls ; 
frizzed  coiffures,  and  short  curls  banded  with  rolls 
of  false  tresses,  so  different  from  her  own  simple 
coil  of  dark  hair.  All  looked  so  stately,  so  hand- 
some, so  happy  ;  and  all  were  treated  with  so  much 
deference  by  the  gentlemen,  whose  toilettes  were 
not  a  whit  less  elaborate  than  those  of  the  ladies. 
"  Ah  !  why  should  not  also  Frangoise  d'Aubigne 
play  a  great  part  in  the  world.'*"  And  she  wept 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

Madame  de  Neuillant  was  shocked,  and  hurried 
poor  Fran^oise  out  of  sight.  But  Scarron  had 
observed  her,  and  inquired  who  that  tall,  fine  girl 
might  be,  and  what  was  the  cause  of  her  grief. 
Madame  explained.  Scarron,  who  was  very  far 
indeed  from  being  rich  —  though  he  sometimes  re- 
ceived large  sums,  which  he  spent  so  recklessly 
that  his  purse  was  more  frequently  empty  than 
full  —  was,  nevertheless,  kind-hearted  and  gen- 
erous. He  declared  that  he  would  himself  provide 
the  poor  girl's  dot,  if  she  had  any  real  inclination 
for  the  seclusion  of  a  convent.  An  interview  took 
place  the  next  day,  when,  to  the  horror  and  indig- 
nation of  Madame  de  Neuillant,  Fran^oise  ex- 
pressed no  desire,  but  much  disinclination,  for  the 
life  of  a  nun.  Reproaches  and  menaces  followed. 
"If  she  would  not  be  a  nun,  what  then?"     The 


SCARRON'S   OFFER    OF  MARRIAGE  47 

culprit  had  nothing  to  say  ;  but  Scarron,  who  had 
been  silent  for  awhile,  replied  to  Madame' s  ques- 
tion, "  Would  Mademoiselle  d'Aubigne  be  his 
wife?"  He  was  so  accustomed  to  jest,  and  nat- 
urally was  so  little  regarded  as  "a  marrying  man," 
that  the  elder  lady  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  his 
ill-timed  joke,  as  she  thought  it.  But  Scarron 
having  convinced  her  that  his  proposal  was  made 
in  perfect  seriousness,  and  that,  unlike  the  con- 
vents, he  would  require  no  dot,  the  question  was 
put  to  Fran^oise  —  "  Would  she  be  Madame  Scar- 
ron?" With  a  smile  and  a  blush,  she  unhesitat- 
ingly said,  "Yes."  And  so  they  were  married  as 
soon  as  Scarron  could  divest  himself  of  his  clerical 
dignity  of  Abbe,  which  he  did  by  disposing  of  it, 
to  a  valet  de  cJiambre,  for  a  good  round  sum,  which 
helped  to  fit  out  the  bride  duly  to  shine  in  his  salon 
as  a  belle  of  the  period. 

It  had  been  hitherto  the  fashion  to  visit  the 
witty  Paul  Scarron,  who,  owing  to  his  infirmities, 
could  himself  visit  no  one.  Henceforth  it  became 
the  fashion  to  visit  the  beautiful  Madame  Scarron. 
In  his  letters,  he  tells  of  the  grands  seigneurs  and 
grandes  dames  who  daily  besiege  his  house  and 
throng  to  his  poor  salo7i  in  the  evening ;  and  that 
he  and  his  "  belle  amie''  hold  quite  a  court.  And 
it  is  certain  that  her  natural  refinement  and  sense 
of  the  convenable  wrought  a  change  both  in  Scar- 
ron himself  and  in  the  tone  of  his  society.  She 
acquired  much  influence  over  him,  and,  to  please 


48  OLD   PARIS 

her,  he  abstained  greatly  from  that  licentiousness 
which  too  generally  had  characterized  his  writings, 
and  oftener  marred  than  added  force  to  his  sallies 
of  wit. 

As  the  agitation  of  the  Fronde  subsided,  the 
society  cJicz  Scarron  became  more  brilliant  and 
select  than  when,  during  the  heat  of  party  strug- 
gles, noisy  pamphleteers  and  satirists  had  formed 
so  large  an  element  in  it.  Men  of  letters  fre- 
quented it  for  the  sake  of  the  sprightly  conversa- 
tion of  the  learned  and  witty  host ;  men  of  the 
sword  and  of  the  gown  went  there  for  relaxation, 
no  longer  to  discuss  public  affairs,  or  to  organize 
a  system  of  opposition  to  the  minister  whose 
power  seemed  to  grow  with  the  resistance  offered 
to  it.  The  ladies  patronized  the  salo7i  of  the  Rue 
de  la  Tixeranderie,  not  only  to  display  their  toilettes, 
and  to  be  amused  and  admired,  but  by  their  viva- 
city, their  esprit,  their  conversational  powers,  and 
the  brightness  of  their  presence,  to  give  zest  to 
the  pleasures  of  the  evening. 

It  was  not  a  second  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  with 
its  suite  of  splendid  salons  and  wealthy  and  artistic 
surroundings,  though  several  of  the  Rambouillet 
circle  were  there,  and  probably  more  at  their 
ease  in  Scarron's  spacious  but  poorly  decorated 
rooms  than  in  the  famous  salon  blen  of  the  mar- 
quise. Corneille,  modest  and  retiring  ;  Chapelain, 
more  pretentious,  yet  learned  and  talented,  though 
no  genius  ;    La  Fontaine,  simple  in  manner,  and. 


CELEBRITIES   OF   THE    DAY  49 

though  in  poverty,  contented  ;  the  witty  Bachau- 
mont,  also,  who  named  the  Fronde,  and  wrote  very 
pleasant  verses  ;  Nicholas  Poussin,  then  perhaps 
the  greatest  painter  in  Europe  —  poor  in  purse, 
but  richly  endowed  with  the  poetic  imagination  of 
genius,  and  who  excited  so  much  envy  in  France, 
whither  he  had  been  invited  to  return,  that,  dis- 
daining all  cabals,  he  again  left  it  for  Rome  ;  the 
historian,  Varillas,  and  De  Bouthillier  de  Ranee  — 
then  translating  Anacreon,  and  leading  a  life  of 
dissolute  pleasure,  by-and-by  to  be  followed  by  the 
austerities  of  La  Trappe ;  Saint  Evremond,  whose 
satirical  account  of  the  retreat  of  the  Due  de 
Longueville  into  Normandy  had  been  rewarded  by 
Mazarin  with  a  pension  of  three  thousand  francs. 
These  and  many  other  of  the  gcns-de-lettres,  and 
beaux  esprits  of  the  time,  frequented  Scarron's 
house. 

Often,  too,  before  his  arrest,  the  Cardinal  de 
Retz  might  be  met  there.  He  then  availed  him- 
self of  Scarron's  ready  and  caustic  pen  to  put  forth 
tirades  he  cared  not  to  acknowledge,  though  he 
approved  and  disseminated  them.  Mesdames  de 
Sevigne  and  de  Coulanges,  also  (the  former  reap- 
peared in  society  in  1652,  after  the  death  of  the 
marquis  and  the  arrangement  of  her  pecuniary 
troubles),  frondeiises  both  of  them,  from  their 
family  connection  with  De  Retz,  and  their  great 
regard  for  him  personally.  The  Comtesse  de 
Fiesque,  the  Duchesse  de  Chevreuse,  and,  in  fact. 


50  OLD   PARIS 

all  the  society  of  the  Fronde,  visited  Scarron. 
Mademoiselle  de  Lenclos  had  absented  herself 
from  Paris  for  three  years,  whilst  the  troubles  of 
the  Fronde  were  at  their  height.  She  had  passed 
them  at  the  Chateau  de  Villarceaux,  and  her  sur- 
prise was  great,  on  her  return,  to  find  Scarron's 
poor  menage  presided  over  by  a  young  wife,  who 
attracted  to  it  all  the  beaiix  cavaliers  and  belles 
dames  of  the  Marais,  with  whom  it  was  the  fashion 
to  extol  her  charming  manners,  amiability,  and 
beauty. 

Not  that  Madame  Scarron  really  was  beautiful. 
She  was  tall,  well  formed,  fresh  and  fair,  and  in 
the  heyday  of  youth  —  la  beaute  dii  diable  —  which, 
with  her  assiduity  to  please,  gained  for  her  the 
patronizing  approval  of  her  own  sex,  and  the  admi- 
ration and  homage  of  the  other.  She  was  exposed 
to  many  temptations,  no  doubt,  but  the  coldness 
of  her  nature  was  her  safeguard,  and,  besides,  she 
was  looking  forward  to  a  position  of  consideration 
in  the  world,  as  she  herself  has  told  us.  If  she 
ever  loved  any  one,  it  was  probably  the  Marquis 
de  Villarceaux.  But  St.  Simon  has,  in  that  re- 
spect, been  particularly  unjust  towards  her.  Of 
her  early  years  he  knew  nothing,  except  from  the 
reports  of  those  who  were  jealous  of  the  influence 
she  later  in  life  acquired  at  court.  The  poverty 
she  was  reduced  to  after  the  death  of  Scarron,  and 
until  she  obtained,  through  the  interest  of  Madame 
de  Montespan,  a  small  pension  from  Louis  XIV., 


fll^a^amc  t)e  flDaintenon 


CHARACTER    OF  MADAME   SCAR  RON         5  I 

is  of  itself  a  denial  of  the  conduct  he  attributes  to 
her. 

Yet  neither  as  Madame  Scarron  nor  Madame  de 
Maintenon  did  she  display  qualities  that  usually 
excite  much  love  or  esteem.  She  was  a  model  of 
the  ge7ire  convenable.  She  had  thoroughly  studied 
her  own  character,  and  knew  what  points  of  it  to 
keep  in  the  shade  and  what  to  bring  forward  for 
the  world's  inspection.  She  prudently  availed  her- 
self of  every  opportunity  of  cultivating  her  mind, 
of  acquiring  knowledge,  and  during  her  nine  years 
with  Scarron  she  had  had  great  facilities  for  doing 
so.  She  was  better  read  than  most  women  of  her 
time  ;  she  wrote  with  more  correctness,  and  far 
more  elegance,  than  Sevigne,  and  might,  had  she 
chosen,  or  had  it  suited  her  purpose,  have  shone 
as  a  bcl  esprit,  as  her  letters  attest.  But  her  single 
aim  was  to  rise  in  the  world,  to  be  considered,  to 
be  looked  up  to ;  and,  to  further  her  aim,  she  knew 
how  to  efface  herself  in  the  presence  of  the  rich 
mediocrities  who  patronized  her  in  the  first  years 
of  her  widowhood. 

As  she  grew  older  there  was  nothing  of  the  sylph 
in  her  figure  ;  she  was  also  large  featured,  had  fine 
black  eyes,  and  there  was  a  staidness  in  her  manner 
that  harmonized  well  with  her  personal  appearance. 
It  was  neither  prudish  nor  severe,  yet  not  unsuited 
to  the  character,  she  affected,  of  a  devotee.  That 
Madame  Scarron  fell  deeply  in  love  with  Louis  XIV. 
when  she  saw  him  enter  Paris  with  his  bride  —  as 


52  OLD   PARIS 

Roederer  has  suggested  —  is  not  easy  to  believe, 
or,  indeed,  that  she  at  any  time  loved  him.  She 
has  said  that  she  loved  "consideration,"  and  was 
willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  of  feeling  to  attain 
it ;  and  it  is  likely  that,  having  treacherously  dis- 
placed Montespan,  her  hopes,  after  the  queen's 
death,  rose  higher  than  before,  and  that  she  may 
have  even  aspired  to  sharing  with  Louis  the  throne 
of  France. 

Her  complainings  to  her  brother  prove  that 
she  had  not  obtained  the  position  she  expected  to 
secure  by  working  on  the  fears  of  the  king.  For 
although,  in  his  anxiety  to  save  his  soul,  Louis  had 
resolved  to  lead  a  more  reputable  life,  being  weary 
of  a  dissolute  one,  and  had  begun  by  marrying  his 
fair  preacher,  he  had  gone  no  further,  and  appar- 
ently had  no  intention  of  saying  to  France,  as  she 
had  hoped,  "  Behold  your  queen !  "  Her  brother, 
a  crazy-headed  spendthrift,  who  cared  only  to  be 
supplied  with  money  to  throw  away  at  the  gam- 
bling-table, could  not  understand  what  his  sister 
still  yearned  for.  "Surely,"  he  said,  "if  you  so 
long  to  die,  you  have  the  promise  d' ^poiiscv  Diai 
le  phr. 

Poor  Madame  de  Maintenon  !  She  paid  a  very 
heavy  price  for  "consideration" — as  she  seemed 
to  confess  when,  arrived  at  the  height  of  it,  she 
replied  to  Madame  de  Caylus'  remark,  that  "the 
carp  brought  to  the  ponds  in  the  gardens  of  Ver- 
sailles  languished   and   died,"   ''  Ellcs  soiit  comme 


HER   DESIRE   FOR    ''CONSIDERATION''        53 

moi ;  elles  rcgrettent  Icur  boiirbcy  The  constraint 
and  servility  of  Versailles  must  have  been  utterly- 
intolerable  when  her  thoughts  flew  back  to  the 
freedom  and  the  sans  faqon  life  of  the  Rue  de  la 
Tixeranderie. 


CHAPTER    V. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Montausier  return  to  Paris.  —  An 
Epitaph.  —  The  Bride  of  Vladislas  of  Poland.  —  Jean  Casi- 
mir.  —  Death  of  Voiture.  —  Jean  Louis  Balzac.  —  The  Prize 
of  Eloquence.  —  A  Presentation  Gold  Chain.  —  "Artamene, 
ou  Le  Grand  Cyrus."  —  Dedicated  to  Anne  de  Bourbon. — 
Cyrus  and  the  Princess  Mandane.  —  Description  of  Mar- 
seilles. —  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde.  —  Boileau's  Remarks 
on  "  Le  Cyrus."  —  Bossuet  Compares  Conde  to  Cyrus. — 
Novels  of  Madame  de  La  Fayette.  —  Succeed  the  Scudery 
Romances.  —  Smouldering  Love  of  Liberty. 

I  HE  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Montausier 
lived  in  a  style  of  great  magnificence  in 
Paris  after  their  return,  in  1653,  from 
Angoumois  —  where  the  influence  of  the  duke's 
high  character  had  kept  the  people  in  check,  and 
prevented  them  from  joining  in  the  general  revolt. 
They  were  both  warmly  attached  to  the  Grand 
Conde  and  the  Duchesse  de  Longueville,  and,  per- 
sonally, despised  Mazarin.  But  as  the  duke  zeal- 
ously upheld  the  royal  authority,  of  which  the 
cardinal  was  the  representative,  and  against  which 
the  prince  and  his  sister  were  rebels  in  arms,  there 
was  an  estrangement  between  the  families.  Soci- 
ety was  reorganizing  itself ;  but.  no  attempt  was 
made  either  by  the  marquise  or  her  daughter  to 

54 


AN  EPITAPH  55 

revive  the  glories  of  the  celebrated  saloji  bleu. 
They  were  extinct ;  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet  had 
accomplished  its  mission,  and  finally  closed  its 
doors.  The  marquise  survived  yet  some  years, 
but  considering  herself  very  near  her  end,  and 
already  dead  to  society,  she,  in  1654,  wrote  her 
own  epitaph : 

"  Ici  git  Arthdnice,  exempte  des  rigueurs 
Dont  la  rigueur  du  sort  Pa  toujours  poursuivie, 
Et  si  tu  veux,  passant,  compter  tous  ses  malheurs, 
Tu  n'auras  qu'a  compter  les  moments  de  sa  vie." 

It  is  scarcely  the  epitaph  one  would  have  ex- 
pected from  the  marquise,  who  had  enjoyed,  and 
continued  to  enjoy,  so  large  a  share  of  the  good 
things  of  life,  and  who  still  had  hosts  of  friends. 
True,  she  had  just  lost  her  husband,  and  of  her 
children,  Julie  alone  remained  to  her.  Tallemant, 
whose  intimate  friendship  with  her  continued  to 
the  end  of  her  life,  says  that  she  was  then  slightly 
palsied,  from  having,  when  younger,  eaten  amber, 
habitually,  to  preserve  the  fairness  and  beauty  of 
her  complexion. 

Several  of  the  best  known  of  the  habitues  of 
Rambouillet  had  died  during  the  agitations  of  the 
Fronde.  Amongst  them  was  the  famous  Voiture. 
He  had  been  requested  by  the  Princess  Louise  de 
Gonzague  —  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Nevers  — 
with  whose  portrait  Vladislas  of  Poland  had  fallen 
in  love,  and,  having  asked  her  in  marriage,  had 


56  OLD   PARIS 

espoused  her  by  proxy,  to  attend  her  while  she 
remained  in  the  capital  as  her  maitre  d' hotel.  This 
flattered  him,  for  the  Polish  king  had  sent  an 
embassy  of  great  magnificence  to  wait  on  his 
queen,  with  carriages,  and  an  escort  surpassing 
in  splendour  anything  yet  seen  at  the  court  of 
France.  She  was  treated  there  as  an  empress, 
and  allowed  to  take  the  pas  of  the  queen-mother. 
On  her  departure,  Voiture,  who  stood  high  in  her 
favour,  was  invited  to  accompany  her,  and  as  he 
was  mi  personnagc  in  the  royal  cortege,  his  vanity 
and  conceit  rose  to  such  a  height  that  it  was 
scarcely  possible  for  inferior  mortals  to  approach 
him  with  sufficient  respect,  while  his  irascibility 
increased  beyond  endurance. 

Vladislas  was  disappointed  in  his  bride.  He 
found  her  less  beautiful  than  her  portrait,  and  not 
so  young  as  he  had  thought  her.  He  had  been 
anxiously  awaiting  her  arrival,  and  collecting  rare 
diamonds  and  pearls  of  great  price,  wherewith  to 
deck  the  peerless  young  beauty  he  hoped  to  pre- 
sent to  the  admiring  Poles  as  their  queen ;  but  as 
she  did  not  fully  realize  his  expectations  —  though 
she  was  still  young  and  handsome  —  he  resented 
the  blow  to  his  hopes  by  treating  her  with  marked 
disrespect.  However,  happily  for  her,  he  died  in 
the  following  year,  when  she  married  his  younger 
brother,  Jean  Casimir  —  a  singularly  restless  char- 
acter—who, before  he  became  king,  was  a  cardinal. 
Innocent  X.,  at  the  instance  of  his  sister-in-law, 


DEATH  OF    VOfTURE  57 

Donna  Olympia,  released  the  King  of  Poland  from 
his  priestly  vows.  Twenty  years  after,  he  abdi- 
cated, went  to  Paris,  and  became  abbe  of  St.  Ger- 
main des  Pres,  but  passed  much  of  his  time  amongst 
the  philosophers  and  beaux  csprits  of  the  salo7i  of 
Mademoiselle  Ninon,  who  had  then  become  dog- 
matical and  sedate. 

Voiture  had  not  the  annoyance  of  witnessing  the 
humiliation  of  the  Queen  of  Poland.  Having  accom- 
panied her  as  far  as  Peronne,  he  then  left  her  and 
returned  to  Paris.  His  health  was  feeble,  and  his 
extremely  irregular  life  still  further  injured  it.  A 
severe  attack  of  the  gout  ensued,  and  as  bleeding 
was  then  the  treatment  for  every  ailment,  Voiture 
was  bled  till  he  died.  Madame  Sainctot  —  the  lady 
to  whom  the  letter  that  first  brought  him  fame  was 
addressed  —  on  hearing  of  his  illness,  flew  to  his 
bedside  and  was  with  him  to  the  last.  He  had 
gambled  away,  and  squandered  in  libertinism,  nearly 
the  whole  of  her  ample  fortune,  as  well  as  his  own 
large  income.  The  French  Academy  went  into 
mourning  for  him  —  an  honour  that  is  said  never 
to  have  been  conferred  on  any  other  member  of  that 
distinguished  society.  Voiture  did  not  write  for 
the  public,  but  Conrart  and  Menage  collected  his 
numerous  letters  and  a  few  of  his  poems.  Their 
success  was  great,  seven  editions  being  required 
within  two  or  three  years.  His  epistolary  style 
was  thought  perfect,  though  it  is  affected  and  arti- 
ficial in  the  extreme ;  and  as  the  letters  treat  chiefly 


58  OLD   PARIS 

of  personal  matters,  but  very  rarely  of  the  events  of 
the  time,  they  are  now  wholly  destitute  of  interest. 

He  had  been  for  twenty  years  engaged  on  a 
romance.  Julie  d'Angennes  had  sketched  the 
plot,  and  Voiture  had  named  it  "  Aludelis  et  Ze- 
lide,"  but  it  was  still  unfinished  when  he  died.  It 
was  his  fame  as  a  bel  esprit,  and  his  pretty,  graceful 
sonnets,  that  made  the  reputation  he  enjoyed  in  his 
own  day. 

He  left  a  natural  daughter,  who  had  taken  the 
veil,  and  who  held  his  memory  in  the  greatest  ven- 
eration. After  his  death,  being  desirous  of  having 
his  portrait  placed  in  her  cell,  she  learned,  to  her 
surprise,  that  it  could  not  be  permitted.  His  life 
had  been  too  dissipated,  too  profane,  to  allow  of 
his  portrait  being  suffered  to  find  a  place  in  the 
austere  and  holy  retirement  of  a  cloister.  To 
relieve  her  distress,  it  was  suggested  that  he 
should  be  painted  as  St.  Louis,  and  thus,  under 
that  saintly  disguise,  the  likeness  of  the  sinner 
was  preserved.  It  was  afterwards  engraved  by 
Nanteuil. 

Another  of  the  writers  of  the  day  whose  death 
had  occurred  was  Jean  Louis  Balzac.  As  a  littera- 
teur, he  stood  higher  in  esteem  with  the  gens  de 
lettres  than  Voiture ;  for  the  French  language 
owed  much  to  his  endeavour  to  infuse  into  prose 
writing  some  of  the  harmony  which  then  existed 
only  in  the  poetic  effusions  of  the  time  —  light 
and  graceful   trifles,  which,  until   the  great  Cor- 


THE   PRIZE   FOR   ELOQUENCE  59 

neille  elevated  the  genius  of  the  nation,  achieved 
renown  for  their  authors.  Indeed,  long  after  Cor- 
neille's  cJiefs-d' ociivre  had  appeared,  a  single  sonnet, 
such  as  "  La  belle  Matineuse,"  of  De  Motteville, 
sufficed  to  secure  the  honour  of  election  to  an 
academic  faiiteuil.  Balzac  was  also  celebrated  for 
his  epistolary  style,  which  differs  from  Voiture's 
in  being  less  familiar  and  more  precise,  just  as 
their  characters  differed.  He  was  Historiographe 
de  France,  and  the  founder  of  the  prize,  in  the 
French  Academy,  for  eloquence.  The  subject 
proposed  to  the  first  competitors  for  the  prize  was 
"  Glory,"  and  it  was  awarded  to  Madeleine  de 
Scudery,  then  esteemed  the  most  spiritiielle  and 
eloquent  of  the  literary  women  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

Madeleine,  indeed,  wielded  a  more  eloquent  pen 
than  any  of  her  literary  contemporaries.  It  was 
a  fertile  and  busy  one,  too.  Had  she  even  been 
disposed  to  give  it  much  rest,  her  brother  Georges 
would  hardly  have  consented ;  for  Madeleine's  pen 
was  the  Providence  he  looked  to  to  furnish  him 
with  the  means  of  obtaining  rare  tulips,  which 
often  cost  a  good  round  sum.  Then,  his  cabinet 
of  portraits  had  to  be  completed,  an  account  of 
which  he  published  in  a  quarto  volume.  Often, 
too,  Georges  met  with  irresistible  temptations  in 
the  shape  of  wonderfully  carved  ivories,  pictures, 
bronzes,  and  other  artistic  and  expensive  trifles. 
In  1650  Georges's  dramatic  pieces  were  considered 


6o  OLD   PARIS 

to  possess  sufficient  merit  to  entitle  him  to  claim 
a  seat  amongst  "the  forty;"  and,  a  vacancy  oc- 
curring in  that  year,  he  was  almost  unanimously 
elected  to  fill  it.  He  was  a  popular  vaitrieii,  "  un 
pen  fanfaron,  mats  trks  cJievalresqtiey 

Scudery,  having  dedicated  his  "  Alaric "  to 
Queen  Christina  of  Sweden,  and  mentioned  in  the 
dedication,  in  terms  of  high  praise,  a  person  to 
whom  she  had  once  shown  much  favour,  but  who 
afterwards  in  some  way  displeased  her,  was  re- 
quested by  Urbain  Chevreau,  at  the  instance  of 
Christina,  to  withdraw  the  passage  referring  to 
him.  Scudery  objected  ;  he  had  a  high  esteem 
for  him,  and  was  under  some  obligations  to  him 
as  a  friend.  Chevreau  then,  in  confidence,  told 
Georges  that  one  of  Christina's  presentation 
chains,  made  of  the  Swedo-African  gold,  and  of  the 
value  of  i,ooo  pistoles,  was  designed  for  him,  but 
that  he  would  probably  lose  it  by  refusing  to  ex- 
punge the  name  of  the  obnoxious  person.  Georges 
listened  with  indignation  to  this  attempt  to  bribe 
him,  as  he  conceived,  to  put  a  slight  on  his  friend, 
then  exclaimed,  energetically,  ^^ Jamais  je  ne  de- 
truirai  t autel on  f  ai  sacrifie  ;  mime  pour  ime  cJiaine 
aussi  grosse  que  celle  que  portaient  les  Incas  de 
Peru  !  " 

Both  Madeleine  and  Georges  were  devoted  to 
the  Conde  family.  Georges  had  fought  at  Rocroi, 
Nordlingen,  and  Lens,  and  had  followed  the  for- 
tunes of  the  prince  at  Bordeaux  and  at  the  siege 


"Z^    GRAND    CYRUS"  6l 

of  Paris.  So  much  was  he  compromised  hy  his 
share  in  the  rebellion,  that  when  the  Fronde  was 
ended,  and  the  prince  entered  the  service  of 
Spain,  Georges  was  concealed  in  Paris  for  some 
time  before  he  could  escape,  as  many  others  did, 
to  Normandy.  His  sister,  during  the  war,  had 
been  employed  on  her  grand  chef-d'ceiivre,  that 
wonderful  romance,  "  Le  Grand  Cyrus."  No 
work  of  the  kind  probably  was  ever  so  popular,  or 
brought  so  large  a  sum  to  its  publisher  —  not  less, 
according  to  the  present  value  of  money,  than  be- 
tween fifty  and  sixty  thousand  pounds.  It  was 
printed  at  Rouen,  and  published  by  Courbe  of 
Paris,  and  was  in  ten  thick  volumes,  which  ap- 
peared separately,  at  intervals  of  about  six  months  ; 
but  the  demand  for  it  was  so  pressing  that  it  was 
sold  in  sheets,  at  an  increased  price,  as  they  were 
printed  off  in  the  interim. 

From  one  end  of  France  to  the  other,  and  by 
all  ranks  of  people ;  the  court,  the  noblesse,  the 
bourgeoisie,  by  all,  indeed,  who  could  read,  "  Le 
Grand  Cyrus  "  was  read,  and,  as  a  French  writer 
says,  "  On  7ie  lisait  pas  seuleinejit,  on  sarracJiait^ 
on  devorait,  a  mesure  qiiils  paroissaient,  c/iacun  de 
ces  dix  gros  volumes^  The  work  was  dedicated 
to  the  Duchesse  de  Longueville,  and  wherever  the 
fortune  of  war  carried  her  during  those  eventful 
five  years,  from  1649  ^o  1653,  the  volumes  were 
forwarded  to  her.  The  plates  are  by  Chauveau, 
the  first  engraver  of  that  time,  and  the  arms  of 


62  OLD   PARIS 

the  princess  appear  on  the  frontispiece  of  each 
volume.  After  the  death  of  the  Due  de  Longue- 
ville,  and  her  withdrawal  from  the  world,  to  ex- 
piate the  errors  she  had  fallen  into  through  her 
infatuation  for  the  selfish  and  unworthy  De  la 
Rochefoucauld  —  who  in  his  "  Memoires  "  so  piti- 
lessly exposed  her  weaknesses  —  she  wrote  to  ex- 
press her  gratitude  to  both  Madeleine  and  Georges 
de  Scudery  for  their  constant  affection  towards 
her,  and  their  warm  defence  of  her  character. 
She  no  longer  wore  jewels,  or  any  kind  of  personal 
ornament,  but,  as  a  mark  of  her  regard  for  both 
brother  and  sister,  she  sent  them  her  portrait,  set 
in  diamonds. 

"Artamene,  ou  Le  Grand  Cyrus"  is  an  alle- 
gorical romance,  in  which,  under  Persian,  Arme- 
nian, and  other  Eastern  names,  all  the  principal 
personages  of  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIII.,  and  the  regency  of  Anne  of  Austria,  are 
represented  with  striking  fidelity.  Victor  Cousin's 
"  La  Societe  du  i  /eme  Siecle  d'apres  le  Grand 
Cyrus "  is  composed,  as  indeed  its  title  implies, 
almost  entirely  of  extracts  from  it.  He  gives  a 
key  to  "  Le  Cyrus,"  which  he  met  with  in  the 
Bibliotheque  de  I'Arsenal.  It  is  but  an  imperfect 
one,  an  abridgment  of  the  original  key,  which  was 
made  a  few  years  after  the  first  publication  of 
Mdlle.  de  Scudery's  completed  work,  and  to  which 
Tallemant  refers  ;  but  no  copy  of  it  is  at  present 
known  to  be  extant. 


CYRUS  AND    THE   PRINCESS  MANDANE     6^^^ 

Le  Grand  Cyrus  is  Le  Grand  Conde,  in  the 
vigour  of  youth  and  the  height  of  his  glory  in 
France,  as  the  conquering  general  of  Rocroi,  Nord- 
lingen,  Charenton,  and  Lens,  represented  in  "  Le 
Cyrus  "  by  the  siege  of  Cumes,  the  battle  of  Thy- 
barra,  etc.  Georges  de  Scudery  was  present  at 
those  military  exploits,  and  probably  furnished  de- 
tails of  them,  or  Mdlle.  de  Scudery  derived  them 
from  trustworthy  reports  of  the  time,  as  they  are 
said  to  be  faithful  accounts  of  the  events,  as  tested 
by  military  history.  The  Princess  Mandane  is  the 
Duchesse  de  Longueville  —  she  was  afterwards 
frequently  addressed  by  that  name.  The  French 
aristocracy  generally  figure  in  this  wonderful  story 
of  love,  politics,  and  war  ;  also  other  of  the  author's 
contemporaries,  of  various  grades  in  the  literary 
world,  as  well  as  in  " /«  societe  polie!'  Their  ad- 
ventures, their  manners,  their  dress,  their  dwell- 
ings, are  all  described.  There  is  Madame  de 
Rambouillet,  her  hotel,  and  its  famous  salon  bleu; 
Julie,  and  her  lovely  sister ;  the  Due  de  Montau- 
sier ;  Angelique  Paulet,  Voiture,  and  the  Ram- 
bouillet circle  generally.  "  Le  Cyrus  "  is,  in  fact, 
a  gallery  of  portraits  of  the  aristocratic  society  of 
the  middle  and  earlier  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

Marseilles  and  its  provincial  celebrities  are  also 
described,  and  the  description  of  the  town  is  said 
to  be  a  faithful  picture  of  what  it  was  at  the  time 
Mdlle.  de  Scudery  wrote.     She  had  accompanied 


64  OLD   PARIS 

Georges  in  1647  to  take  possession  of  his  sinecure 
post  of  Gouverneur  de  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde 
de  Marseilles.  She  calls  it  "  le plus  beau  licit,  de  la 
nature  pour  sa  situation.'"  Their  literary  reputa- 
tion gained  for  them  so  flattering  a  reception  that 
a  salute  of  ten  guns  was  fired  in  their  honour. 
For  "  Cyrus  "  was  not  the  only  work  of  Mdlle.  de 
Scudery  that  became  famous ;  she  already  had 
written  "Mathilde  d'Aguilar "  and  "  Celinthe," 
each  in  a  single  volume ;  and  the  most  perfect, 
and  perhaps  the  most  generally  interesting,  of  all 
her  romances,  "  Ibrahim,  ou  I'illustre  Bassa,"  in 
four  volumes.  Georges  dramatized  it,  and  its  suc- 
cess as  a  play  equalled  its  popularity  as  a  romance. 
She  was  also  well  known  at  that  time  as  a  poetess, 
and  by  her  "  nom  de  Pamasse''  of  Sappho.  But 
accustomed  to  the  more  stirring  life  of  the  capital, 
they  soon  grew  weary  of  their  "  exile,"  as  she 
terms  it ;  and,  the  governor  having  no  duties  to 
perform,  he  and  his  sister  returned  to  Paris. 
The  chateau  of  Notre  Dame  was  on  a  lofty  emi- 
nence, and  very  difhcult  of  access.  Bachaumont, 
and  the  poet  Claude  Chapelle,  who  visited  it  in 
the  course  of  their  travels  in  the  south  of  France, 
speak  of  it  in  their  rhymed  account  of  "  Un  Voyage 
a  Montpellier,"  as 

"  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde, 
Gouvernement  commode  et  beau, 
A  qui  suffit  pour  toute  garde, 
Un  Suisse  avec  sa  hallebarde 


NOTRE   DAME   DE   LA    GARDE  65 

Peint  sur  la  porte  du  chateau. 

Plus  d'une  heure  le  rocher  nous  grimpames, 

Ensuite  a  la  porte  doucement  nous  frappames, 

Des  gens  qui  travailloient  la  proche 

Nous  dirent,    Messieurs,  la  dedans 

On  n'entre  plus  depuis  longtemps. 

Le  gouverneur  de  cette  roche 

Retournant  en  cour  par  le  coche 

A  depuis  environ  neuf  ans, 

Emporte  la  clef  dans  sa  poche.' " 

The  salary  of  the  governor  was  proportioned,  it 
appears,  to  his  duties.  Georges  said,  when  the 
appointment  was  given  to  him,  that  "  unless  it 
rained  manna  at  the  Chateau  de  la  Garde,  he 
should  die  of  hunger  in  that  important  stronghold." 
But  he  liked  the  style  and  title.  It  appeared,  in 
full,  in  all  his  works,  and  on  the  title-page  of  Made- 
leine's, which  were  usually  published  in  his  name ; 
at  first,  because  of  the  celebrity  he  had  acquired 
before  she  began  to  write  on  her  own  account. 
For  many  years  she  had  assisted  him,  and  several 
of  the  works  issued  as  wholly  his  were  known  to 
be  from  her  pen. 

It  is  singular  that  Boileau,  in  his  "  Discourse  on 
the  Dialogue  of  the  Heroes  of  Romance,"  should 
have  reproached  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  —  with 
whom,  though  born  later  in  the  century,  he  was 
contemporary  —  for  depicting,  in  her  Cyrus,  a  hero 
so  unlike  the  Cyrus  of  the  Bible  promised  by  the 
Prophets,  or  even  the  Cyrus  of  Herodotus  or  Xen- 
ophon.     As  M.  Cousin  remarks,  "  How  is  it  that 


66  OLD    PARIS 

Boileau  did  not  perceive  that  he  was  mistaking 
Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  for  Madame  Dacier ; 
that  he  was  laying  down  rules  for  an  historical 
work  when  the  question  was  only  of  a  work  of  the 
imacfination  ?  "  Tallemant  des  Reaux,  who  was  a 
friend  of  the  Scuderys  and  a  frequenter  of  the  same 
society,  remarks  that  neither  the  actions  nor  the 
manners  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity  must  be  sought 
for  in  "Cyrus"  or  "Clelie,"  but  a  resemblance  to 
them  in  character,  and  the  faithful  portraiture  of 
the  models  she  made  choice  of  to  represent  them. 
Her  Cyrus  was  before  her  eyes  —  a  reality  —  the 
hero  whose  military  fame  then  filled  Europe,  who 
had  saved  France  from  her  enemies,  and  extended 
the  frontiers  of  the  kingdom.  Bossuet  himself, 
in  his  funeral  oration  on  the  death  of  the  Prince 
de  Conde,  compares  him  to  Cyrus,  as  if  in  confir- 
mation of  the  justness  of  the  idea  of  the  roman- 
cist.  It  seems  probable  that  Boileau  had  never 
read  "  Le  Grand  Cyrus,"  but  had  merely  bestowed 
a  cursory  glance  on  its  seven  thousand  pages. 

According  to  modern  ideas,  the  writings  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  are  extremely  prolix, 
affected,  and  sentimental.  Yet  they  are  often 
lively ;  the  thoughts  are  ingenious  and  natural, 
and  the  conversations  abound  in  witty  repartee. 
Her  sentiments  are  noble ;  her  works  thoroughly 
moral,  and  interesting,  as  pictures  of  the  best 
French  society  of  her  day.  They  brought  her 
large  profits  and   world-wide  fame,  for  many  of 


NOVELS    OF  MADAME   DE   LA    FAYETTE     6/ 

her  works  were  translated  into  several  languages. 
Those  that  were  "  Englished  by  a  person  of  qual- 
ity "  are  certainly  not  improved  by  the  process. 

The  "  Ricovrati  "  of  Padua  elected  her  a  member 
of  their  society.  There  was  a  question  of  follow- 
ing their  example  in  the  Academic  Fran^aise,  and 
of  admitting  other  learned  women  as  honorary 
members.  The  proposal  was  made  by  Menage 
and  supported  by  Chapelain,  but  was  not  agreed  to. 
Woman  was  already  supreme  in  the  salon;  it  was 
thought  dangerous  to  enthrone  her  in  the  academic. 

Chateaubriand  used  to  say  that  his  mother 
knew^  "  Cyrus  "  by  heart.  This,  presumably,  was 
but  inanihe  dc  parler.  To  get  the  ten  volumes  of 
"Cyrus  "  by  heart  would  have  been  even  a  greater 
feat  than  to  write  them.  The  work  was  highly 
esteemed  in  England,  and  for  a  considerable  time 
after  the  long  heroic  romances  were  laid  on  the 
shelf  in  France.  Lady  Russell  said  "  Clelie,"  a 
work  of  less  merit,  was  "a  most  improving  book." 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague  speaks  of  "  Cyrus," 
and  says  that  "  as  a  girl  she  used  to  devour  it,  so 
intensely  was  she  interested  in  it." 

The  novels  of  Madame  de  La  Fayette,  which 
followed  the  Scudery  romances,  though  similar  in 
style,  are  thought  by  some  persons  to  be  an  im- 
provement upon  them.  Probably,  being  very  short, 
they  may  have  obtained  a  reading  in  more  recent 
times,  while  the  voluminous  Scudery  stories  have 
scarcely  been  looked  at.     After  the  Fronde,  the 


68  OLD   PARIS 

intrigues  of  the  court,  its  ceaseless  round  of  dissi- 
pation, and  the  increase  of  gambling,  left  no  time 
for  the  perusal  of  those  romances  de  longite  haleine 
which  had,  formerly,  been  the  delight  of  the  leisure 
hours  of  both  seigncitrs  ct  dames.  With  the  latter, 
the  short  romances  or  novelettes  ("  La  Princesse 
de  Cleves  "  and  "  Zaide  ")  of  the  Comtesse  de  La 
Fayette  found  great  favour.  But  they  are  insipid 
and  affected  ;  her  heroes  are  represented  as  ^'chefs- 
d'oeuvre  de  la  nature'''  —  of  itself  enough  to  dis- 
gust one  with  them.  The  style  is  negligent,  and 
full  of  faults  which  the  practised  pen  of  Madeleine 
de  Scudery  knew  how  to  avoid. 

With  men,  both  of  the  noblesse  and  the  bour- 
geoisie, romance-reading  had,  to  a  great  extent, 
gone  out  of  fashion.  Thought  had  largely  devel- 
oped itself  during  the  eight  or  nine  years  of  civil 
commotion.  The  political  pamphlet  had  contrib- 
uted towards  it,  and  social  and  philosophical  ques- 
tions had  been  discussed  with  much  freedom.  And 
with  them  the  masculine  mind  continued  to  occupy 
itself,  rather  than  with  sentimental  fiction,  though 
throughout  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  the  independ- 
ence of  spirit  that  had  been  awakened  in  France 
during  the  Fronde  was  sedulously  suppressed.  But 
despite  all  the  efforts  of  absolutism  to  extinguish 
it,  together  with  the  ardent  aspiration  for  liberty 
it  gave  rise  to,  it  smouldered  on,  until,  in  the  at- 
tempt to  finally  crush  it,  it  exploded,  and  produced 
the  Revolution  and  the  Reign  of  Terror, 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Les  Moeurs  Italiennes.  —  Louis  Disposed  to  Break  Bounds.  — 
Increase  of  Gambling.  —  The  Cure  of  St.  Germain.  —  The 
Doctors  of  the  Sorbonne.  —  Mazarin  Unmasks  to  the  Queen. 

—  Georges  de  Scudery  Married.  —  Friendship  Dashed  with 
Sentiment. —  Mdlle.  de  Scudery's  "  Samedi." — Les  Coteries 
Precieuses.  —  The  Scudery  Circle.  —  The  Tuesday  receptions. 

—  Madeleine's  Paroquet.  —  "Clelie." — The  Pen  of  Sappho. 

—  Portraits  and  Entretiens. —  "  Les  Mysteres  des  Ruelles."  — 
Madeleine's  Annuity. 

'NDER  Mazarin,  the  court  and  society 
did  not  improve,  either  in  morals,  or 
manners.  After  his  triumphant  return 
to  France,  les  Diccnrs  Italiennes  —  as  it  was  cus- 
tomary to  call  the  dissolute  mode  of  life  that  pre- 
vailed—  were  then  introduced,  the  cardinal's  aim 
being  to  corrupt  the  mind  of  the  young  king. 
Brought  up  in  ignorance  and  effeminacy,  and  all 
knowledge  of  affairs  of  state  withheld  from  him, 
Mazarin  hoped  to  indispose  him  from  taking  upon 
himself  the  cares  of  government,  and  thus,  by  pro- 
longing his  own  term  of  power,  to  rule  him,  as  his 
father  had  been  ruled  by  Richelieu.  Once,  indeed, 
there  was  an  indication  that  the  king  was  disposed 
to  break  bounds,  when,  in  his  seventeenth  year, 
roused    by  the    information    that   the   parliament 

69 


70  OLD   PARIS 

seemed  inclined  again  to  resist  the  edicts  of  his 
minister,  he  rode  from  Vincennes,  equipped  for 
the  cliase,  and,  with  his  riding-whip  in  his  hand, 
entered  the  hall  where  they  were  assembled.  In 
an  authoritative  tone  he  said,  "It  is  well  known 
that  your  meetings  have  been  the  cause  of  great 
misfortunes  to  the  country ;  I  order  you,  therefore, 
to  desist  from  discussing  my  edicts.  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, I  forbid  you  to  allow  these  meetings,  and  I 
forbid  every  one  of  you  to  ask  for  them." 

Those  who  were  dissatisfied  with  the  existing 
order  of  things  —  and  many  were  extremely  averse 
to  it  —  were  by  no  means  displeased  at  this  high- 
handed proceeding  of  the  young  monarch.  It 
seemed  to  augur  the  speedy  downfall  of  the  car- 
dinal. But  nothing  of  the  sort  resulted  from  it. 
Louis  was  too  fully  occupied  with  fetes  and  car- 
rousels ^  the  chase,  and  the  cardinal's  libertine  sup- 
pers ;  and  the  cardinal  went  on  plundering  the 
state  with  impunity,  elevating  his  family,  and  en- 
riching both  them  and  himself.  He  gave  also  a 
fresh  impetus  to  the  already  too  prevalent  habit  of 
gambling.  He  was  expert  at  games  of  hazard,  and 
played  for  high  stakes ;  men  often  lost  their  estates 
to  him,  and  women  their  jewels.  The  queen 
"played  only  a  moderate  game,"  and  still  pre- 
ferred the  theatre  to  the  gambling-table. 

The  queen's  love  for  the  play  had  brought  upon 
her  many  admonitions  from  the  ciir^  of  St.  Ger- 
main I'Auxerrois,  and  her  conscience  at  last  took 


INCREASE    OF  GAMBLING  /I 

alarm.  His  denunciations  fell  heaviest  on  the 
"  Comedies  a  macJiincs,  a  I ' Italienne."  The  bishops 
were  convoked,  and,  after  long  deliberation,  they 
declared  that  historical  and  serious  plays  might  be 
witnessed  without  scruple.  Several  were  even  of 
opinion  that  the  courtiers,  whose  duty  it  was  to 
attend  her  at  the  theatre,  might  by  that  means  be 
drawn  from  more  objectionable  pastimes  elsewhere. 
It  was  not  incompatible,  then,  with  the  queen's 
professed  piety  to  sanction  these  public  amuse- 
ments. The  devotions  of  kings,  they  said,  must 
be  regulated  by  rules  more  elastic  than  the  devo- 
tions of  less  exalted  individuals,  and  circumstances 
determine  what  was  or  was  not  befitting  or  seemly 
in  their  case. 

Again,  then,  the  little  theatre  of  the  Palais 
Royal  was  graced  by  the  presence  of  the  queen 
—  the  king,  the  cardinal,  and  a  train  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  the  court  accompanying  her. 
Against  the  liveliness  and  mirth  of  the  pctites 
pikes  a  V Italienne,  was  set,  as  a  penitential  coun- 
terbalance, the  heavy-weighted  dialogue  of  some 
production  of  the  cardinal's  playwrights.  Not 
that  he  favoured  men  of  letters,  he  despised  them  ; 
but  he  would  often  propitiate  those  whose  pens  he 
feared,  and  prevent  them  from  writing  a  telling 
satire  or  clever  pamphlet  by  inducing  the  produc- 
tion of  a  bad  play,  and  rewarding  it  with  a  pension, 
or  the  gift  of  some  place,  or  office,  that  could  be 
disposed  of  for  an  acceptable  sum.     And  was  not 


72  OLD    PARIS 

this  better  than  cutting  off  their  heads  a  la  Riche- 
lieu ?  The  cur^  of  St.  Germain,  however,  was 
not  so  easily  propitiated.  The  presentation  to  a 
'bishopric,  or  the  gift  of  a  rich  abbacy,  could  not 
have  reduced  him  to  silence.  He  was  bent  on 
carrying  his  point,  and  boldly  denounced  the 
queen  guilty  of  pkJi(^  mojicl — seven  doctors  of 
the  Sorbonne  supporting  him. 

Anne  of  Austria  was  sorely  disquieted.  She 
loved  both  her  oratory  and  her  theatre,  her  prayers 
and  her  plays.  She  did  not  neglect  the  former, 
and  was  unwilling  to  be  deprived  of  the  latter. 
The  question  of  peche  mortcl  was  therefore  for- 
mally submitted  to  the  consideration  of  the  doctors 
of  the  Sorbonne.  Twelve  of  them  opposed  the 
seven  who  had  agreed  with  the  C2ire,  and,  with  the 
usual  result,  convinced  them,  against  their  will, 
that  they  were  in  error.  It  was  not  necessary, 
said  the  twelve,  to  adhere  strictly,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  to  the  customs  of  the  apostolic 
age.  In  founding  the  first  Christian  churches  a 
strict  discipline  was  needed  ;  and,  even  now,  to 
the  unenlightened  of  the  flock  of  the  faithful,  the 
world's  pleasures  must  be  sparingly  conceded. 
But  if  her  majesty,  as  a  relaxation  from  the  heavy 
cares  of  state,  sought  amusement  at  the  theatre, 
so  long  as  the  play  contained  nothing  scandalous, 
or  contrary  to  good  manners,  it  was  an  innocent 
pastime  that,  without  the  slightest  qualm  of  con- 
science, might  be  indulged  in.     Thus,  the  suffer- 


MAZARIiY  UNMASKS    TO    THE    QUEEN       73 

ings  of  the  queen's  sensitive  nature  were  healed  ; 
and  in  a  happy  blending  of  piety  and  pleasure,  her 
life  again  flowed  on,  undisturbed  by  the  remon- 
strances of  the  pious  aire,  whom  the  courtiers  de- 
rided for  his  efforts  to  deprive  them  of  the  play. 

Yet  there  was  one  bitter  thought  that  occasion- 
ally brought  a  pang  to  the  breast  of  Anne  of 
Austria  —  the  thought  that  the  power  delegated 
to  her  favourite  had  irrevocably  slipped  out  of  her 
hands  ;  that  he  now  ruled  the  nation  absolutely 
and  independently  ;  ruled  the  king,  ruled  her,  and 
was  not  solicitous  to  conceal  that  fact  from  her. 
She  was  fond  of  homage  ;  but  the  cardinal  had 
become  less  deferential  than  formerly,  less  assidu- 
ous in  paying  his  court  to  her,  and  her  disappoint- 
ment and  resentment  often  found  expression  in 
impotent  opposition  to  his  views.  The  queen 
passed  more  time  in  her  oratory ;  but  piety  was 
not  yet  the  fashion  —  for  the  cardinal  made  a  jest 
of  religion- — and,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  ladies 
in  immediate  attendance  upon  her,  gallantry  and 
indevotion  were  the  rule  at  court.  '' Masarin, 
outre  son  avarice,''  says  Madame  de  Motteville, 
"  miprisait  les  phis  Jionnetes  femmes,  les  belles-lettres 
et  tout  ce  qui  petit  contribiier  a  la  politesse  des 
homines y  "Les  Jiommes  et  les  femmes  de  la  cotir 
s' occnpaient  egalement  de  cabales  et  d' intrigues  ;  et 
pour  r ordinaire  faisaient  gloire  de  n  estimer  que  la 
vanitc,  V ambition,  Vinteret  et  la  volnpte ;  et  le  car- 
dinal en  etait  la  caused 


74  OLD   PARIS 

In  the  midst  of  this  corruption,  more  than  one 
attempt  was  made  to  carry  on  the  work  of  the  ex- 
tinct Hotel  de  Rambouillet.  Mademoiselle  de 
Scudery,  who,  from  girlhood  to  middle  age,  had 
been  accustomed  to  spend  her  evenings  in  the 
society  of  that  learned  and  brilliant  circle,  felt 
keenly  the  loss  of  a  distraction  which  from  habit 
had  become  a  necessity  to  her.  The  large  sums 
received  for  "  Cyrus  "  had  been  chiefly  employed 
in  paying  her  brother's  debts.  But  Georges  was 
now  in  Normandy,  where  he  had  married  Made- 
moiselle de  Martin-Vost,  a  young  lady  of  good 
family  and  some  property,  who  had  fallen  in  love 
with  his  literary  reputation  — "  Le  Cyrus  "  having 
been  attributed  to  him  —  and  appears  to  have  been 
equally  pleased  with  his  air  of  grand  seigneur,  as 
their  marriage  took  place  after  a  very  short  ac- 
quaintance. The  brother  and  sister  had  always 
lived  together,  and  Georges  had  persistently 
frowned  away  all  Madeleine's  suitors ;  he  could 
not,  with  his  extravagant  habits,  afford  to  lose  the 
aid  of  her  prolific  pen. 

To  her  constant  friend,  Pelisson,  he  had  a  furious 
dislike.  He  and  Madeleine  often  met  in  society, 
but  Georges  believed,  or  affected  to  believe,  that 
these  frequent  meetings  were  assignations,  and 
rigorously  forbade  them.  A  true  and  strong 
friendship  had  grown  up  between  Pelisson  and 
Madeleine — a  friendship  that  continued  through- 
out life.     There  was  in  it,  doubtless,  a  large  dash 


FRIENDSHIP  WITH  A  DASH  OF  SENTIMENT  75 

of  sentiment  ;  it  was  one  of  those  friendships  that 
approach  very  near  to  love,  but  happily  contrive 
to  avoid  being  wrecked  on  that  dangerous  shoal. 
Pelisson  exercised  an  extraordinary  influence  over 
women  —  women,  too,  of  distinguished  talent  and 
elevated  rank.  But  the  fascination  was  in  no 
degree  owing  to  physical  advantages.  '' Disgrn- 
cieiix  dc  taille  et  de  visage,''  remarks  Sevigne, 
"  maix  en  le  dedojiblatit  on  troiivait  nne  belle  intel- 
ligence et  nne  helle  dmey  There  was,  perhaps,  not 
an  uglier  man  in  France  ;  though  Guillerague's  mot 
on  Pelisson,  "that  he  abused  the  privilege  that  had 
been  conceded  to  men  of  talent  to  be  ugly,"  was 
often  borrowed  and  applied  elsewhere. 

Pelisson,  as  a  youth,  is  said  to  have  been  fairly 
good-looking ;  his  disfigurement  was  the  work  of 
small-pox  of  the  most  malignant  type.  So  greatly 
was  he  affected  by  the  change  in  his  personal  ap- 
pearance that  for  some  two  or  three  years  he 
secluded  himself  in  the  country,  unable  to  over- 
come his  extreme  self-disgust.  Yet  under  an  ex- 
terior so  unprepossessing,  so  repellent  to  sympathy, 
he  had  the  gift  of  both  feeling  and  inspiring  it. 
He  was  several  years  younger  than  Mademoiselle 
de  Scudery,  who  was  disinclined  to  marriage,  and 
had  refused  two  or  three  advantageous  offers.  In 
one  of  her  letters  she  says  :  "  Selon  moi,  le  mariage 
est  la  chose  dii  monde  le  pins  difficile  a  f aire  bien  a 
propos.  Trois  fois  dans  ma  vie  f  ai prefe're  la  liberie 
a  la  ricJiesse,  et  je  ne  sanrois  m  en  repentir.'' 


jd  OLD   PARIS 

Pelisson  was  confidential  secretary  to  the  famous 
Nicholas  Fouquet  (Marquis  de  Belle  Isle  and  siirin- 
tejidant des finances)  vjhen  Mademoiselle  de  Scud^ry, 
who  had  devoted  her  talents  and  many  years  of  her 
life  to  the  support  of  her  brother's  extravagances, 
felt  that  the  time  had  arrived  to  assert  her  right  to 
be  free.  She  had  hired  or  purchased  a  house  of 
modest  pretensions  in  the  Vieille  Rue  du  Temple, 
where  she  could  receive  her  numerous  literary 
friends.  It  was  then  a  pleasant,  rural  spot,  her 
house  standing  in  a  garden  full  of  fruit-bearing 
trees,  surrounded  by  tall  shrubs  and  bushes,  where 
"the  birds,"  she  says,  "built  their  nests,  brought 
up  their  families  undisturbed,  and  repaid  her  for 
their  share  of  the  fruit  with  their  cheerful  songs." 
In  this  unpretending  dwelling  she  established  the 
famous  Samedi  —  a  Rambouillet  on  a  small  scale. 
There  was  no  salon  bleu,  with  its  velvet  and  gold, 
its  mirrors  and  carvings,  and  the  rich  and  varied 
adornments  of  that  far-famed  wealthy  establish- 
ment. But  every  Saturday  her  salle  de  reception 
was  filled  with  the  most  eminent  of  the  gens  de 
lettres  of  the  old  Rambouillet  set.  Personal  merit 
and  talent  had  been  more  considered  than  mere 
rank  at  the  hotel  of  the  marquise,  yet  the  most 
illustrious  of  the  aristocracy  frequented  it.  They 
also  formed  part  of  the  circle  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Scud^ry,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Montausier 
setting  the  example ;  the  difference  being  that  it 
was  a  coveted  honour  to  be  received  at  the  hotel 


riDMle.  t)e  Scu^er^ 


LES   COTERIES  PKECIEUSES  J  J 

in  the  Rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre,  but  a  desire 
to  do  honour  to  a  woman  of  high  character  and  dis- 
tinguished abihties  that  induced  Ics  grandcs  seig- 
neurs et  grandes  dames  to  frequent  the  maisonnette 
in  the  Vieille  Rue  du  Temple. 

The  "Saturdays"  of  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery 
were  a  great  success.  They  soon  became  as  famous 
as  her  romances,  and  the  fashion  she  had  set  of 
"having  a  day,"  was  very  generally  followed.  The 
literary  coteries  of  the  " precienses'' — a  term  then 
beginning  to  be  used,  but  which  was  taken  in  no 
ill  sense  until  some  years  later  — were  numerous  ; 
none,  however,  attained  celebrity  equal  to  that  of 
their  foundress.  The  ladies  of  the  lesser  noblesse 
and  of  the  haute  bourgeoisie,  who  were  spirituelles 
and  possessed  taste,  leisure,  and  wealth,  sought  an 
introduction  to  these  assemblies.  But  although 
they  were  purely  literary,  very  few  lady  authors 
were  admitted.  Men  of  culture  and  of  agreeable 
manners  found  a  welcome  there ;  for  Mademoiselle 
thought  a  party  of  women  apt  to  grow  dull.  She 
had  remarked  that,  she  said,  and  also  that  on  such 
occasions  the  unexpected  entrance  of  one  of  the 
sterner  sex  would  immediately  brighten  up  the 
whole  party. 

On  Tuesday  she  received  her  most  cherished 
and  intimate  friends;  Menage  —  who  then  lived 
in  the  old  secularized  cloister  of  Saint  Denis  de  la 
Chartre,  and,  following  the  fashion,  had  taken 
Wednesday   for  assembling  his    literary  friends ; 


yS  OLD    PARIS 

Chapelain  —  ^' si  bicn  rente,''  yet  so  parsimonious, 
that  Madeleine  had  to  devise  some  delicate  way 
of  letting  him  know  that  his  dress  was  startlingly 
shabby,  and  that  when  he  presented  himself  he 
looked  more  like  a  mendicant  than  one  of  her  circle 
of  intimates.  Then  there  was  la  jeiine  Madame 
Scarron,  in  whom  she  was  interested,  and,  in  a 
certain  sense,  protected  ;  also  Madame  de  Sevigne, 
who  was  interested  in  Jier.  De  la  Rochefoucauld 
often  dropped  in,  and  oftener  on  Tuesday  than 
Saturday ;  even  Madame  de  Montbazon,  with 
Madame  de  La  Fayette,  who  had  just  essayed  her 
pen  in  the  portrait  of  Madame  de  Sevigne.  Those 
sworn  friends,  Ninon  and  Saint  Evremond,  some- 
times chaperoned  Madame  Scarron.  Claude  Per- 
rault,  the  architect  of  the  exterior  colonnade  of  the 
Louvre,  was  her  constant  visitor,  and  Paul  Pelis- 
son  never  was  absent ;  at  the  Saturday  literary 
reunions  he  acted  as  secretary. 

These  and  many  other  celebrities  of  the  literary 
world  and  the  bean  monde,  assembled,  more  or  less 
numerously,  on  Tuesday  from  two  to  five.  The 
hours  of  reception,  when  the  cercle  was  learned 
and  middle-aged,  were  spent  in  conversation,  "  lit- 
teraire  et  galante,''  as  we  are  told;  when  young 
and  lively,  in  discussing  the  fashions,  and  being 
witty  and  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  court.  If 
the  weather  was  particularly  fine,  they  took  a  turn 
in  the  garden,  gathered  and  ate  cherries,  of  which 
she   had   some  of   a  remarkably  fine  kind,   and, 


MADELEINE'S   PAROQUET  79 

amongst  her  many  accomplishments,  numbered 
the  useful  art  of  making  excellent  preserves  of 
them,  as  treats  for  her  friends.  Or  they  strolled 
in  the  extensive  grounds  of  the  old  Temple,  where 
the  hotel  of  the  Grand  Prieur  Vendome  was  then 
erected,  or  walked  in  the  green  lanes  of  the  pleas- 
ant rural  neighbourhood.  The  famous  Leibnitz 
did  not  disdain  to  address  verses  to  Madeleine's 
paroquet,  promising  him  immortality  with  the  name 
of  his  mistress.  She  was  fond  of  birds  and  all 
domestic  animals,  because,  she  said,  they  showed 
so  much  friendship  for  her.  Life  became  a  far 
more  enjoyable  possession  to  her  after  a  kind 
Providence  threw  Georges  in  the  way  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Martin-Vost,  and  so  took  the  gay, 
gallant  spendthrift  off  her  hands. 

She  was  exceedingly  fond  of  society,  and  must 
have  very  skilfully  husbanded  her  time,  and  turned 
every  minute  to  account,  or  she  could  scarcely 
have  accomplished  so  much  writing.  For  she 
wrote  her  eight  volumes  of  "  Clelie  "  while  Georges 
was  in  exile ;  yet  she  was  to  be  met  with  at  most 
parties  of  pleasure,  often  taking  country  rambles, 
and  diligently  returning  the  visits  she  received. 
The  hours  she  devoted  to  writing  were  the  early 
ones  of  the  morning,  and  the  later  ones  of  the 
evening,  and  she  wrote  easily  and  rapidly. 
"Clelie,"  though  it  was  well  received  and  went 
through  several  editions,  was  considered  inferior 
to  •'  Cyrus,"     It  has  in  it  more  of  the  affectation 


8o  OLD    PARIS 

that  was  beginning  to  be  ascribed  to  the  "  Pr^- 
cicuscsy  The  subject  is  taken  from  Roman  his- 
tory, so  far  as  well-known  names  are  concerned  ; 
but  the  facts  of  history  are  not  in  it,  or,  indeed, 
intended  to  be.  It  is  the  history  of  her  own  imme- 
diate circle,  and  the  civil  war  of  the  Fronde,  the 
incongruity  between  the  names  of  the  heroes  and 
the  actions  attributed  to  them  being  often  very 
striking.  This  was  less  apparent  in  "  Cyrus,"  be- 
cause little  or  nothing  was  known  of  the  manners 
and  customs  of  ancient  Persia,  and  the  action  of 
the  story  was  more  heroic.  But  both  "  Cyrus  " 
and  "  Clelie "  are  works  that  do  honour  to  the 
French  language.  Calprenede  was  extremely 
jealous  of  the  success  of  "Clelie,"  and  revenged 
himself  by  endeavouring  to  depreciate  Made- 
moiselle's reunions ;  but  he  prevented  neither  its 
siicch  d'estime  nor  sncces  d' argent. 

The  description  of  Carthage  is  fine,  and  has 
been  pronounced  to  be  not  an  unfaithful  one. 
Many  lively  pictures  are  also  given  of  the  combats 
outside  Paris  (otherwise  Rome)  and  the  ententes 
within.  "  Clelie  "  contains  seventy-three  portraits 
of  persons  of  celebrity,  so  cleverly  characteristic 
that  they  were  immediately  recognized  by  their 
contemporaries.  Ladies  of  distinction  desired  to 
see  themselves  depicted  in  Mademoiselle  de  Scud- 
ery's  romances ;  not  that  she  unduly  flattered 
them,  like  Madame  de  La  Fayette  in  her  portrait 
of  Madame  de  Sevignc,  who  was  thus  addressed  : 


THE   PEN  OF  SAPPHO  8 1 

"  Heaven  has  bestowed  graces  upon  you,  madame, 
which  never  have  been  given  but  to  you,  and  the 
world  is  indebted  to  you  for  coming  into  it  to  show 
it  a  thousand  agreeable  qualities  before  wholly  un- 
known to  it."  "The  pen  of  Sappho,"  writes  a 
French  author,  "  competed  with  the  pencil  of 
Philippe  de  Champaign e,  as  well  as  with  that  of 
Mignard  and  of  Petitot,  so  faithfully  did  she  por- 
tray both  person  and  character."  Tallemant 
names  several  of  the  originals  ;  and  the  descrip- 
tions of  Scarron  and  his  home,  and  of  Madame 
de  Maintenon  in  her  youth,  have  been  pronounced 
more  correct  than  any  others  extant. 

These  sketches  of  the  elite  of  society  brought 
pen-and-ink  portraits  into  fashion,  and  for  some 
time  this  literary  caprice  formed  the  favourite 
amusement  of  the  cercle  of  the  Grande  Mademoi- 
selle, while  she  and  her  marechales  lived  retired 
and  in  disgrace  at  the  Chateau  de  Six  Tours 
( St;  Fargeau).  Those  courageous  Fr-ondetcscs,  who 
had  not  been  included  in  the  cold  reconciliation 
that  some  of  the  turbulent  nobles  effected  with 
the  court,  amused  themselves  with  sketching  their 
own  portraits  ;  and  they  did  not  shrink  from  de- 
picting what  they  considered  the  principal  beau- 
ties of  their  persons,  but  with  a  free,  bold  hand 
set  down  both  their  physical  and  mental  qualities. 
These  "Divers  Portraits"  Mademoiselle  printed, 
and  submitted  to  the  public  ;  her  own  portrait, 
sketched  by  herself,   being  of   the   number,  also 


82  OLD   PARIS 

those    of    Louis    XIV.,    the    Grand    Conde,    and 
Christina  of  Sweden. 

Mademoiselle  de  Scudery's  portraits  of  her  con- 
temporaries, her  "Conversations  morales"  and 
"  Entretiens  sur  toutes  especes  de  sujets,"  are 
still  full  of  interest.  She  excelled  in  conversation, 
that  art  so  sedulously  cultivated  at  Rambouillet, 
and  in  society  generally  in  the  middle  of  the  17th 
century,  an  art  which  it  was  the  aim  of  the  liter- 
ary coteries  of  "  Les  Precieiises "  also  to  sustain. 
And  though  in  their  desire  still  further  to  perfect 
the  language,  they  fell  into  many  affectations  of 
speech,  yet  their  influence  on  society  was  bene- 
ficial ;  and,  in  spite  of  their  prudery,  their  reunions 
promoted  social  intercourse,  and  were  schools  of 
good  manners  in  a  time  of  general  depravity.  The 
"Conversations"  were  written  when  "precieuse'' 
had  become  a  term  of  ridicule  —  not  so  much 
owing  to  Moliere's  comedy,  as  to  "  La  Precieuse, 
ou  les  mysteres  des  ruelles,"  of  the  Abbe  de  Pure, 
which  preceded  it.  It  was  a  work  more  malicious 
than  witty  ;  the  abbe,  for  some  offence  against 
their  rules,  having  been  excluded  from  the  coteries 
of  the  pricieitses.  But  in  the  "  Conversations," 
there  is  no  straining  after  effect,  no  false  refine- 
ment, or  example  of  the  bad  taste  attributed  to  the 
"precieiises  ridicules^'  with  whom  Mademoiselle  de 
Scudery  has  been  erroneously  classed.  On  the 
contrary,  they  are  cJiefs-d' ccjivre  of  their  kind; 
and  together  with  her  portraits  and  letters,  possess 


MADELEINE'S  ANNUITY  83 

both  literary  and  historic  vakie,  as  they  afford  a 
pleasing  idea  of  the  sort  of  conversation  that 
formed  the  charm  of  the  distinguished  circle  of 
Rambouillet,  and  generally  of  that  polished  society 
of  the  seventeenth  century  of  which  Mademoiselle 
de  Scudery  is  the  acknowledged  representative. 

It  was  considered  a  reproach  to  the  govern- 
ment that  one  held  in  such  high  esteem  by  her 
friends,  and  also  by  the  public,  for  the  perfect 
propriety  of  her  conduct,  the  rectitude  of  her 
principles,  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  talents,  should 
have  no  pension  conferred  on  her ;  while  a  few 
madrigals,  or  sonnets,  from  the  pen  of  some 
mediocre  versifier  often  undeservedly  received  the 
recognition  due  to  literary  merit.  Scarron  wrote 
—  after  he  had  with  difficulty  obtained  a  small 
pension  for  himself,  from  the  queen,  as  her 
"  Malade  "  : 

"  Siecle  meconnoissant,  le  dirai-je  k  ta  honte, 
On  admire  Sapho,  tout  le  monde  en  fait  compte. 
Mais,  O  siecle,  a  I'estinie  et  aux  admirations, 
Pourquoi  n'ajouter  pas  de  bonnes  pensions  ?  " 

That  Fouquet,  who  so  liberally  patronized  tal- 
ent, should  have  omitted  to  pension  Mademoiselle 
de  Scudery  is  surprising.  Menage  reproached 
Colbert  for  similar  neglect.  Yet  Mazarin,  who 
was  said  to  despise  both  les  femmes  honnetes  et  les 
belles  lettres,  left  her,  by  will,  an  annuity  of  one 
thousand  livres.     His  nephew  and  heir,  le  Due  de 


84  OLD   PARIS 

Mazarin,  declined  to  pay  it.  Her  friends  inter- 
fered, and  the  tribunal  appealed  to  confirmed  her 
right  to  it,  and  ordered  the  duke  to  pay  up  the 
arrears  and  the  interest  due  upon  them. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    Royal    Visitor.  —  Christina   of    Sweden.  —  Chasing  the  wild 
Boar.  —  "  Vivat  nostra  Regina!"  —  Christina's  Abdication. 

—  Christina  described  in  "Cyrus." — A  Surprise  for  the 
Court.  —  Christina  in  Paris.  —  A  Sensation  at  Compiegne. 

—  Costume  of  the  Queen  of  Sweden.  —  At  the  first  Glance, 
Alarming.  —  Her  personal  Appearance.  —  Finances  at  a 
low  Ebb.  —  Departure  and  Return.  —  Assassination  of 
Monaldeschi. 

RUMOUR  reached  France  in  1656  that 
the  court  might  shortly  expect  the  hon- 
our of  a  visit  from  the  learned  and 
philosophic  queen,  Christina  of  Sweden.  She 
had  resigned  her  crown,  abjured  the  reformed 
Lutheran  faith,  and  having  seen  Rome  and  the 
head  of  her  new  religion.  Pope  Alexander  VII., 
was  anxious  to  extend  her  travels  to  France,  and 
to  visit  its  capital  and  its  king,  before  finally  set- 
tling down  in  the  Holy  City. 

Expectation  was  naturally  on  tiptoe,  for  no 
woman  of  the  seventeenth  century  enjoyed  a 
greater  reputation  for  learning  and  masculine  abil- 
ity than  Christina ;  and  none  probably,  in  any  age, 
has  exemplified  more  strikingly  the  folly  of  at- 
tempting to  run  counter  to  nature,  and  to  put 
woman  on  a  level  with  man.      In  her  training  and 

«5 


86  OLD   PARIS 

education,  from  the  early  age  of  four  years,  an 
elaborate  system  was  pursued,  devised  by  her 
father,  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  his  minister  Oxen- 
stierna.  Gustavus  was  about  to  join  the  princes 
of  Northern  Germany  against  the  Emperor  Ferdi- 
nand, in  order  to  aid  them  in  that  terrible  struggle 
for  religious  freedom  now  known  as  the  Thirty 
Years'  War.  He  had  no  male  heir ;  Christina  was 
his  only  child  ;  and,  should  Gustavus  fall  on  the 
battle-field,  as  he  seemed  to  anticipate,  and  the 
sceptre  pass  into  the  hands  of  a  woman,  he  desired 
that  that  woman  should  be  worthy  to  reign  over 
the  gallant  and  hardy  Swedes,  and  be  capable  of 
governing  her  kingdom  with  masculine  firmness 
and  wisdom,  and  of  carrying  out  plans  and  reforms 
he  had  greatly  at  heart. 

Two  years  later,  Gustavus  was  killed  at  the 
battle  of  Lutzen.  Soon  after,  her  mother,  Elenora 
of  Brandenburg,  permanently  took  up  her  resi- 
dence in  Denmark,  leaving  Christina  to  the  care 
of  her  aunt,  the  Princess  Katarina,  who  died 
while  the  queen  was  yet  a  mere  child.  Hence- 
forth, her  bringing  up  was  that  of  a  boy  —  no 
female  occupations,  no  female  instructors.  She 
wore  a  boy's  jacket,  furred  hat,  necktie,  and 
boots  ;  the  petticoat  of  woman  was  the  only  con- 
cession permitted  to  the  weakness  and  vanity  of 
the  sex.  She  could  shoot,  either  with  bow  or 
pistol,  with  perfect  precision  and  steadiness,  and 
was  a  skilful  and  darin";  horsewoman.     To  follow 


CHASING    THE    WILD   BOAR  8/ 

the  wild  boar,  the  Arctic  fox,  the  bear,  and  other 
wild  animals,  she  would  plunge  recklessly  into  the 
dense  Swedish  forests,  often  riding  for  ten  suc- 
cessive hours  without  any  apparent  fatigue  ;  some- 
times—  after  passing  three  or  four  hours  of  the 
night  in  a  forester's  hut  in  the  woods  —  remount- 
ing at  daybreak,  quite  fresh  and  lively,  to  reach 
Upsala  early,  for  her  studies  or  the  affairs  of  the 
council  chamber.  She  had  all  the  hardihood  and 
endurance  of  the  Swede,  but  was  not,  like  Gus- 
tavus,  robust  in  appearance. 

The  rough  sports  and  recreations  in  which  she 
so  frequently  indulged  would  seem  to  be  quite 
incompatible  with  the  severe  course  of  study  she 
was  supposed  to  have  simultaneously,  and  with 
equal  diligence,  pursued.  At  the  age  of  eighteen, 
when  the  reins  of  government  were  given  into  her 
hands,  we  are  told  that  she  had  not  only  studied 
the  Bible  and  its  Jewish  commentators  in  the  orig- 
inal Hebrew,  but  had  read  all  the  ancient  Greek 
and  Latin  authors,  and  was  able  to  converse  with 
fluency  in  both  languages.  Besides  this,  she  was 
familiar  with  every  modern  tongue,  and  had  exam- 
ined into  every  system  of  philosophy.  The  Swedes, 
who,  as  a  nation,  had  more  of  the  qualities  that 
make  brave  and  hardy  soldiers  and  sailors  than 
philosophers  and  litterateurs,  stood  amazed  at  the 
tales  that  were  told  them  of  the  vast  learning  of 
their  queen.  But  they  appreciated  far  more  her 
bold  riding  and  driving,  her  shooting  and  hunting, 


88  OLD   PARIS 

and  thought  her  semi-masculine  dress  very  becom- 
ing. When  she  was  seen  in  her  sledge,  or,  with 
pistols  at  her  saddle-bow,  dashing  along  the  streets 
of  Upsala  or  Lund,  the  riotous  students  would  call 
out  lustily,  "  Vivat  nostra  regina  Christina,''  and 
drink  her  health,  in  foaming  tankards  of  beer,  in 
the  market-place.  She,  however,  despised  the 
Swedes,  and  longed  for  a  wider  and  more  cul- 
tured sphere  for  the  display  of  her  great  abilities 
than  the  little  kingdom  she  was  called  to  the  irk- 
some duty  of  reigning  over. 

She  declined  to  be  troubled  with  cares  so  insig- 
nificant, but,  en  attendant  an  opportune  moment 
for  emancipating  herself,  she  condescended  to 
squander  the  finances  of  the  state,  to  give  away 
the  crown  lands  to  her  favourites,  and  to  the 
needy  professors  and  poets  she  induced  to  visit 
Stockholm.  Descartes  died  there.  A  gold  chain, 
and  the  promise  of  a  pension,  prevailed  on  him  in 
his  old  age  and  poverty  to  undertake  a  journey  to 
Sweden,  and  to  encounter  the  rigours  of  the  north- 
ern winter.  But  he  had  left  France  for  many  a 
year.  Its  climate  he  fancied  unsuited  to  the  philo- 
sophic brain ;  it  was  too  exciting,  inducing  a  kind 
of  whirl,  productive  of  idle  fancies,  and  flighty 
notions  fatal  to  sober  thought.  He  therefore  left 
Paris,  fled  to  Holland,  where  also  he  could  pro- 
pound his  theories  with  greater  freedom.  Chris- 
tina held  long  arguments  with  him,  and,  as  she 
believed,  confuted  many  of  his  notions. 


CHRISriNA'S   ABDICATION  89 

In  1654  she  abdicated,  in  favour  of  her  cousin 
Charles,  left  Sweden  immediately,  and  soon  after 
embraced  Catholicism.  The  Swedes,  for  the  sake 
of  the  great  Gustavus  Adolphus,  whose  memory 
they  held  in  high  veneration,  had  been  disposed  to 
look  leniently  on  her  follies,  but  her  abjuration  of 
his  and  their  religion  closed  their  hearts  against 
her.  They  never  forgave  her,  and  when,  some 
years  after,  she  would  have  resumed  the  crown, 
they  resolutely  rejected  her. 

But  the  French  court  was  anxiously  looking 
forward  to  her  arrival.  She  was  supposed  to 
know  more  than  the  learned  members  of  the 
French  Academy  and  the  doctors  of  the  Sorbonne 
united.  Her  ambassador,  De  la  Gardie — on  whose 
useless  embassy  she  had  wasted  an  immense  sum 
of  money,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of  Oxen- 
stierna  and  his  colleagues  —  had,  a  few  years  before, 
greatly  exalted  his  royal  mistress's  perfections,  for 
the  sake  of  increasing  his  own  importance  and 
magnifying  his  office.  As  fame  and  her  ambas- 
sador described  her,  she  is  portrayed  in  "  Le 
Grand  Cyrus "  under  the  name  of  the  Princess 
Cleobuline.  And  before  her  visit  to  Paris,  Georges 
de  Scudery  wrote : 

"  Christine  peut  donner  des  lois 
Aux  coeurs  des  vainqueurs  les  plus  braves 
Mais  la  terre  a-t-elle  des  rois 
Qui  soient  dignes  d'etre  ses  esclaves  ?  " 

The  Due  de  Guise  was  appointed  by  Mazarin  to 


90  OLD   FAKIS 

meet  this  renowned  queen  at  the  frontier,  and  to 
conduct  her  to  Paris  with  all  due  state  and  cere- 
mony. A  great  surprise  awaited  him.  She  had 
no  retinue,  scarcely  any  baggage,  and  her  dress 
was  so  unlike  anything  he  had  seen  before  that 
he  could  scarce  forbear  an  exclamation  of  aston- 
ishment. Two  women  and  two  ill-favoured  men 
accompanied  her.  We  are  not  told  whether  they 
represented  ladies  and  gentlemen-in-waiting,  or 
were  merely  domestic  servants,  only  that  they 
were  so  shabbily  dressed  that  the  men  looked  like 
mendicants,  the  females  like  old-clothes  women. 
All  pens  had  been  employed  in  celebrating  Chris- 
tina. The  ladies  had  been  told  that  abstruse 
sciences  and  profound  philosophy  were  familiar 
to  her  as  the  distaff  and  the  needle  were  to  the 
generality  of  her  sex.  But  "  renown,"  remarks 
Madame  de  Motteville,  "  is  a  great  gossip,  and  one 
by  no  means  unwilling  to  overstep  the  bounds  of 
truth." 

It  was  with  some  satisfaction,  then,  that  the 
ladies  discovered  that  this  "  rciiie  gotJiiqiie "  was 
a  woman  whose  talent  and  virtues  were  but  of  a 
very  ordinary  kind,  and  that,  whatever  else  she 
might  know,  she  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the  art  of 
dressing  herself  either  tastefully  or  becomingly, 
and  had  but  little  regard  even  for  cleanliness. 
They  were  also  greatly  shocked  at  the  evident 
amusement  she  derived  from  the  ceremonies  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  ;  for  she  had  not  pro- 


CHRISTINA    IX  PARIS  9 1 

fessed  herself  a  member  of  it  from  any  conviction 
that  she  was  turning  from  error  to  embrace  reH- 
gious  truth  ;  but,  being  about  to  travel  and  reside 
among  Catholics,  she  thought  to  command  more 
respect  and  homage  by  professing  the  same  faith. 
The  conversion,  as  it  was  termed,  of  this  learned 
and  royal  heretic,  was  greatly  vaunted  in  the  Cath- 
olic world,  and  was  expected  to  bring  into  the  true 
fold  a  large  number  of  benighted  stragglers  then 
wandering  in  the  wilderness  of  error.  But  for 
Christianity,  under  whatever  form  it  assumed,  she 
had  little  respect,  and,  as  was  said  at  the  time,  "  Si 
elle  pratiquait  les  morales,  c  etait phitot  par  fantaisie 
que  par  sentiment. 

Both  the  court  and  the  bourgeoisie  gave  her  a 
brilliant  reception  ;  but  she  affected  great  indiffer- 
ence to  everything  prepared  for  her  amusement, 
and  found  little  to  admire  in  what  she  saw  in  Paris. 
She  gave  the  preference  to  Rome,  but  said  the 
country  was  fine  and  appeared  to  be  well  popu- 
lated. She  pronounced  the  Italian  ^'comMie  a 
machines''  bad  ;  criticized  very  freely,  and  with  the 
air  of  a  connoissenr,  the  collections  of  pictures  that 
were  shown  to  her.  But  she  liked  the  banquets, 
ate  with  amazing  appetite,  and  talked  much  and 
loudly,  her  voice  having  the  tone  of  a  man's,  and 
her  gestures  and  movements  the  air  of  a  bold 
trooper.  Yet  while  she  was  a  novelty  she  pleased, 
for  she  was  vivacious,  if  rather  boisterous,  well  in- 
formed, and  fond  of    displaying    her    knowledge. 


92  OLD   PARIS 

She  spoke  French  very  well,  and  understood  Latin, 
but  these  two  languages,  together  with  her  mother 
tongue,  and  the  Italian  she  had  learnt  in  Rome, 
were  the  extent  of  her  linguistic  accomplish- 
ments. 

The  queen,  and  the  young  king  and  his  brother 
were  at  Compiegne.  It  was  made  a  point  of  eti- 
quette that  Christina  —  travelling  without  any  of 
the  showy  trappings  and  encumbrances  that  royalty 
then  was  so  fond  of,  though  not  incognita  —  should 
go  thither  and  visit  them,  after  the  cardinal  had 
done  the  honours  in  Paris.  Accordingly,  after 
having  made  a  short  sojourn  in  the  capital,  and 
gone  the  round  of  the  saloiis  —  receiving  and 
affording  the  most  amusement  cJiez  Ninon  and  Scar- 
ron,  and  being  both  pleased  and  edified  at  Made- 
moiselle de  Scudery's  —  she  set  out  alone  for 
Compiegne.  Great  was  the  sensation  she  caused 
there,  and  probably  intended  to  cause  ;  for  the  more 
she  affected  the  Amazon  and  disregarded  conven- 
tionalities, the  more  she  imagined  she  proclaimed 
her  superiority  over  the  elegant  and  frivolous  "  fem- 
ininities" who  did  not  aspire  to  be  more  than 
women,  and  proved  herself  a  worthy  daughter  of 
the  great  Gustavus  Adolphus. 

Her  appearance  so  strongly  resembled  that  of  a 
wandering  gipsy  —  for  during  her  travels  in  the 
sunny  south  she  had  taken  no  care  to  preserve  her 
complexion,  and  her  skin  had  become  much  tanned 
—  that  the  delicately  strung  nerves  of   Anne   of 


COSTUME    OF    THE    QUEEN   OF  SWEDEN  93 

Austria  received  quite  a  shock  when  the  outland- 
ish-looking object,  ushered  into  her  presence  with 
such  extraordinary  ceremony,  was  announced  as 
the  Queen  of  Sweden.  Instead  of  her  own  fair 
hair,  plaited  and  hanging  loosely  on  her  shoulders 
—  as  when  Whitelocke,  Cromwell's  ambassador, 
saw  her  —  Christina  had  promoted  herself  to  the 
dignity  of  a  wig,  and  the  wig  was  of  black  hair,  and 
in  fashion  such  as  the  men  of  that  period  were  ac- 
customed to  adorn  themselves  with.  It  was  high, 
and  full  frizzed  in  front,  large  and  bushy  at  the 
sides,  whence  it  fell  low  in  narrow  points.  Appar- 
ently, it  had  been  well  powdered  and  pomaded  be- 
fore she  left  Paris ;  but  she  had  had  breezy 
weather  on  her  journey,  and  the  wind  had  taken 
great  liberties  with  her  wig,  tossing  its  curls  hither 
and  thither,  and  tumbling  them  together  in  wild 
dishevelment.  The  back  of  this  strange  coiffure, 
so  manly  in  front,  had  a  frizzy  arrangement,  in 
imitation  of  the  manner  in  which  women  then 
wore  their  hair. 

Her  bodice,  or  corset,  was  cut  to  resemble  a 
man's  jacket ;  her  under  garment  was  drawn  out 
between  the  bodice  and  the  petticoat,  as  the  men 
then  wore  their  shirts,  and  there  was  the  same 
kind  of  puffing  out  of  linen  at  the  end  of  the 
sleeves.  The  broad  linen  collar  "was  merely  fas- 
tened with  a  pin,  and  was  put  on  all  awry.  A 
piece  of  black  riband  was  tied  round  her  neck. 
The    ladies    then    wore    long    flowing   trains,  but 


94  OLD    PARIS 

Christina's  short  grey  skirt,  with  narrow  bands  of 
silver  and  gold  braiding,  just  cleared  her  ankles 
and  displayed  her  boots,  which  in  form  and  mate- 
rial were  the  same  as  men's.  As  the  head  of  a 
military  nation,  she  thought  herself  entitled  to 
wear  a  soldier's  hat  ;  and  to  trail  a  sword  at  her 
side. 

Madame  de  Motteville  confesses  that,  at  the 
first  glance,  Christina  was  alarming ;  but  on  the 
eye  becoming  reconciled  to  her  fantastic  costume, 
neither  it  nor  the  wearer  was  displeasing.  She 
could  be  very  agreeable  when  she  desired  to  make 
a  favourable  impression,  readily  penetrated  into 
the  character  and  feelings  of  those  about  her,  and 
pro  tent,  adapted  her  conversation  and  manners  to 
them.  In  France,  her  fluency  in  the  language 
served  to  reconcile  many  to  her  eccentricities. 
The  king  and  his  brother  were  first  presented  to 
her  as  private  gentlemen,  but  she  had  seen  their 
portraits  in  Paris,  and  remarked  to  Mazarin  that 
"  those  young  gentlemen  had  the  air  of  princes 
born  to  a  throne."  Louis  was  then  eighteen,  but 
he  shrank  from  conversing  with  her,  his  ignorance 
was  so  profound,  and  her  reputation  for  learning 
so  overwhelming. 

In  personal  appearance,  Christina  is  described 
as  below  the  middle  height,  full  chested,  but  not 
perfect  in  figure,  one  shoulder  being  higher  than 
the  other,  a  defect  she  contrived  partly  to  conceal 
by  the  oddity  of  her  dress.      Her  hands  were  con- 


HER   PERSONAL    APPEARANCE  95 

sidered  well-formed,  but  were  generally  too  dirty 
to  be  attractive  ;  they  were  large,  also,  and,  unlike 
the  "  mains  mignojines  "  of  Anne  of  Austria,  had 
been  roughly  used  in  manly  sports  and  exercises. 
Her  face  was  large,  but  its  contour  good,  her 
nose  aquiline,  her  mouth  not  unpleasing,  but  not 
small  enough  for  beauty,  and  her  teeth  tolerably 
even.  She  had  very  fine  eyes,  —  bright,  full  of 
expression  and  vivacity,  and  searching  in  their 
glances.  Though  much  sunburnt,  and  bearing 
traces  of  the  small-pox,  her  complexion  was  not 
bad ;  so  that,  on  the  whole,  though  not  handsome, 
she  was  probably  rather  good-looking,  and  at  the 
time  referred  to  she  was  in  her  thirtieth  year. 

But  the  court  soon  grew  weary  of  her,  and  she 
found  its  etiquette  oppressive.  She  laughed  at 
the  minuet  and  other  stately  dances,  and  at  the 
fadeur  of  the  conversation  of  the  queen  and  her 
ladies.  She  was  soon  acquainted  with  all  the 
scandal  of  Paris,  commented  on  it  freely,  and  was 
not  unsparing  of  oaths  and  jests  that  were  shock- 
ing to  ears  polite.  She,  however,  seemed  greatly 
inclined  to  give  Paris  the  preference  to  her  much- 
vaunted  Rome  for  her  abode.  But,  alas  !  funds 
were  wanting ;  and  one  object  of  her  visit  seems 
to  have  been  to  claim  a  sum  of  money  which  at 
the  Peace  of  Westphalia  it  was  stipulated  that 
France  was  to  pay  to  Sweden.  A  promise  only 
of  payment  was  given ;  for  it  was  desired  that 
Christina  should  leave  Paris,  and  to  facilitate  her 


96  OLD   PARIS 

plans,  Mazarin's  palace  at  Rome  was  ordered  to 
be  prepared  for  her  reception. 

Christina  at  length  felt  compelled  to  take  her 
departure,  and  a  sum  of  200,000  livres  was  then 
paid  to  her  by  the  cardinal. 

In  the  following  year  she  announced  another 
visit  to  France,  and  Fontainebleau  was  assigned 
to  her ;  but  she  was  not  invited  to  return  to  Paris. 
While  at  Fontainebleau  there  occurred  that  mys- 
terious event,  the  assassination,  by  her  order,  of 
Monaldeschi.  The  nature  of  his  treachery  and 
the  kind  of  confidence  she  reposed  in  him  have 
never  been  fully  ascertained.  She  was  fond  of 
meddling  in  the  political  affairs  of  Europe,  and 
once  or  twice  offered  her  mediation  to  obtain  a 
settlement  of  state  differences,  but  it  was  never 
accepted. 

Gui  Patin,  the  author  of  some  satires  and  gos- 
sipping  memoirs  little  to  be  relied  upon,  asserted 
that  Christina  had  discovered  that  Monaldeschi 
served  Mazarin  as  a  spy  on  her  actions,  and  had 
betrayed  her  political  secrets  to  him.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Montpensier,  with  whom,  though  in  dis- 
grace, Christina  was  more  intimate  than  with 
most  ladies  of  the  court,  had  said  that  of  the  two 
Italians  the  queen  had  with  her,  Sentanelli  and 
Monaldeschi,  the  former  appeared  to  stand  higher 
than  the  latter  in  her  favour  and  confidence  ;  but 
that  Monaldeschi,  whom  he  had  supplanted,  being 
exceedingly  annoyed  and  jealous,  to  revenge  him- 


ASSASS/.VAT/OX  OF  AW.VALDESCH/  9/ 

self  set  reports  afloat  injurious  to  her  honour,  and 
that  Christina,  in  high  indignation,  ordered  his 
assassination.  Madame  de  Motteville  confirms 
this  view  of  the  mysterious  and  tragical  occur- 
rence. 

Whatever  the  motive,  the  deed  has  been  a  blot 
on  the  character  and  fame  of  the  Swedish  queen. 
No  one  was  found  to  justify  her  but  Leibnitz. 
She  was,  in  fact,  amenable  to  the  laws  of  France 
for  murder ;  but  the  law  closed  its  ears  to  the 
report,  though,  at  the  same  time,  Christina  was 
made  to  understand  that  she  could  not  again 
be  received  at  the  court  of  France,  and  that 
therefore  she  must  at  once  leave  the  kingdom. 
She  returned  directly  to  Rome.*  Pope  Alexander 
VII.  allowed  her  a  pension  of  12,000  scudi ;  and 
as  she  managed  her  pecuniary  affairs  so  ill,  he 
deputed  Cardinal  Azzolini  to  regulate  them  for 
her.  She  resided  in  Rome  twenty-five  years, 
and  employed  herself  in  writing  several  works, 
and  in  collecting  objets  d'art. 

Her  visit  to  the  French  court  was  long  remem- 
bered, and  her  eccentric  sayings  and  doings  were 
often  the  theme  of  lively  conversation  there. 
Christina  liberally  patronized  literature,  science 
and  art.  To  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  she  often 
wrote,  and  sent  her  valuable  presents. 

*  The  insolent  letter  said  to  have  been  written  by  her  on  this 
occasion  to  "  Jules  Mazarin,"  is  now  known  to  be  a  forgery. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Madame  de  Caylus.  —  Reminiscences  of  the  Fronde.  —  Hotels 
d'Albret  and  de  Richelieu.  —  Ruelles  and  Alcoves.  —  La 
Marquise  de  Sable.  —  A  Disciple  of  D'Urfe.  —  A  Faithless 
Knight.  —  Dismissed  by  his  Lady- Love.  —  The  Port  Royal 
Salon.  —  "  Maximes  et  Pensees."  —  La  Rochefoucauld's 
Philosophy.  —  Les  "  Lettres  Provinciales." — Blaise  Pascal. 
—  Maximes  de  Madame  de  Sable. 

[ADAME  de  caylus,  the  niece  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  attributes,  in  her 
"  Souvenirs,"  the  supposed  aversion  of 
Louis  XIV.  to  her  aunt  in  the  early  days  of  his 
acquaintance  with  her,  to  a  suspicion  that  she  was 
a  "pjrcieiise  "  of  the  Rambouillet  school.  She  was 
a  frequenter  —  at  that  time,  as  a  humble  friend  — 
of  the  Hotels  d'Albret  and  de  Richelieu.  But, 
though  imitating  Rambouillet,  they  had  neither 
the  same  influence  in  society,  nor  included  in  their 
circle  (the  guests  of  one  being,  with  few  excep- 
tions, the  guests  of  the  other)  the  wit,  learning, 
and  distinction  which  made  the  sa/on  of  the  Mar- 
quise de  Rambouillet  celebrated  above  all  others. 
It  is  very  probable  that  the  term  "/^recwsit/," 
or,  indeed,  any  other  signifying  a  respect  for 
morals  or  decency  of  conduct,  would  be  offensive 
to  a  man  so  thoroughly  dissolute  as  Louis  XIV. 

98 


REMINISCENCES   OF    THE    FRONDE  99 

But  it  is  yet  more  probable  that  to  revive  the 
memories  of  the  Fronde  was  to  him  a  greater 
offence.  The  name  of  Scarron  reminded  him  that 
he  had  been  obliged  to  fly  from  Paris,  and  had 
re-entered  it  only  when  it  pleased  the  people 
to  invite  him ;  that  his  throne  had  been  so 
thoroughly  shaken  that  he  had  very  nearly  been 
shaken  from  it  during  that  memorable  struggle  — 
which,  to  please  him,  the  servile  band  of  worship- 
ping courtiers,  when  the  threatened  danger  was 
past,  ridiculed  and  made  a  jest  of. 

The  widow  of  the  witty  pamphleteer  and  sat- 
irist—  whether  or  not  a  professed  '' precieiise" 
in  her  principles  —  was  then  too  insignificant 
a  person  for  "  Glorious  Apollo "  to  bestow  any 
thought  upon.  But  her  frequent  and  importu- 
nate solicitations  for  a  pension  annoyed  him  ex- 
cessively. He  tore  up  her  petitions  and  tossed 
them  from  him,  exclaiming,  "Shall  I  never  hear 
the  last  of  this  widow  Scarron.^"  And,  persist- 
ent as  she  was,  she  would  not  have  succeeded 
in  her  object  (for  her  friends  of  the  hotels  did 
not  aid  her),  had  not  the  reigning  favourite  of 
the  royal  harem  done  her  the  friendly  turn  to 
take  up  her  cause  and  plead  it  for  her.  So  long 
as  she  bore  the  name  of  Scarron,  Louis  was  not 
reconciled  to  her  —  good  nurse  though  she  proved 
to  his  illegitimate  children  ;  but  when  she  became 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  then  her  arts  began  read- 
ily to  take  effect  on  him. 


lOO  OLD   PARIS 

Madame  de  Montespan  was  a  constant  visitor 
at  the  Hotels  d'Albret  and  de  Richelieu,  but 
found  it  no  barrier  to  her  elevation  as  mattresse 
en  titrc.  It  was  there  her  acquaintance  with 
Madame  Scarron  was  formed.  Those  hotels  were 
presided  over  by  ladies  of  less  distinguished  lit- 
erary and  artistic  tastes  than  the  Marquise  de 
Rambouillet,  whom  they  imitated,  chiefly,  in  cul- 
tivating sociability.  Just  as  the  ladies  of  the 
haute  bourgeoisie,  and  even  those  of  far  inferior 
pretensions,  followed  the  fashion  introduced  by 
Mademoiselle  de  Scudery,  and  set  apart  some 
hours  of  an  appointed  day  in  each  week  for  re- 
ceiving their  friends  ;  thus  promoting  that  taste 
for  social  intercourse  inherent  in  the  French  of 
all  classes.  If  all  had  not  salons,  all  could  receive 
in  their  ruelles  —  the  space  between  the  bed  and 
the  wall  —  and  it  was  a  custom  of  very  old  date 
to  do  so.  Henry  IV.,  whom,  unless  the  gout 
held  him  fast  by  the  leg,  —  which  it  sometimes 
did,  —  one  would  hardly  suspect  of  so  indolent 
a  proceeding,  transacted  business  of  state,  with 
Sully  and  others,  in  the  right-hand  riielle,  and 
received  the  visits  of  his  intimate  friends  in  the 
left. 

Generally,  there  was  but  one  ruelle,  for  turn- 
ing from  side  to  side  must  have  been  fatiguing. 
The  indolent  Anne  of  Austria,  who  passed  so 
much  of  her  life  in  bed,  held  very  merry,  chatty 
parties  in  her  ruelle ;  and  all  ladies  did  the  same. 


RUELLES  AND   ALCOVES  lOI 

Alcoves,  as  before  observed,  were  introduced 
from  Spain  by  the  dignified  Marquise  de  Ram- 
bouillet,  and  not  merely  for  closing  up  a  bed, 
but  as  being  better  suited  than  the  ruellc  for  cosy 
conversation.  If  an  obscure  prccicuse  received  in 
a  ruellc  the  homage  of  her  adoratairs  platoniqties, 
Ics  zrmides  dames  also  received  in  their  ruelles, 
friends  of  the  sterner  sex.  But  the  purely  lit- 
erary coteries  of  the  precietises  had  for  object 
besides  the  pleasure  of  a  social  reimion,  discussion 
on  the  improvement  of  the  language.  We  know, 
that,  in  their  zeal  for  excessive  refinement  in  lan- 
guage and  manners,  they  often  overstepped  the 
limits  of  good  taste,  and,  in  their  endeavour  to 
accomplish  some  desirable  changes,  introduced 
not  a  few  affectations.  Yet,  if  there  were  '' pre'- 
ciejises  ridicules^'  there  were  ^Iso  '^ pre'cieuses  illus- 
tres." 

The  true  successor  of  Madame  de  Rambouillet 
was  the  Marquise  de  Sable,  who,  above  all  oth- 
ers, was  distinguished  in  society  for  what  were 
then  understood  as  ^'grande  politesse,'"  and  "/^r- 
faite  distinction^  She  was  a  highly  finished  speci- 
men of  nnc  grande  dame  of  the  Rambouillet 
school.  No  longer  young,  but  extremely  well- 
preserved,  and  always  elegantly  and  tastefully 
dressed,  she  was  still  much  admired  in  the  ma- 
turity of  her  beauty.  Her  smooth  skin  had  no 
trace  of  small-pox,  a  disease  she  had  lived  much 
in   dread   of,   and    had    happily   escaped,  by   con- 


102  OLD   PARTS 

stantly  and  carefully  guarding  against  the  chances 
of  taking  it.  Her  fear  of  death,  under  any  form, 
is  said  to  have  been  extreme  in  her  youth, 
frequently  causing  deep  depression  of  spirit.  But 
as  the  time  for  leaving  the  world  drew  nearer, 
her  love  for  it  declined ;  she  became  gradually 
reconciled  to  bidding  an  eternal  adieu  to  its  pains 
and  its  pleasures,  its  cares  and  its  vanities,  and, 
at  last,  with  the  poet  Francois  Mainard,  was  able 
to  say: 

"  Las  d'esp^rer,  et  de  me  plaindre 
Des  muses,  des  grands,  et  du  sort, 
C'est  ici  que  j'attends  la  mort, 
Sans  la  desirer  ni  la  craindre." 

Her  disposition  was  a  happy  combination  of 
many  agreeable  qualities ;  she  possessed  much 
goodness  of  heart,  with  liveliness  and  wit,  tem- 
pered by  piety.  She  was  of  noble  birth,  being 
the  daughter  of  Gilles  de  Sauvre,  Marquis  de 
Courtenvaux.  Left  a  widow  at  an  early  age,  she 
determined  to  contract  no  second  marriage ;  for, 
being  a  diligent  student  of  "  Astree,"  she  was 
deeply  imbued  with  those  ideal  and  chivalric 
notions  of  love  which  prevailed  at  Rambouillet, 
and  had  greatly  contributed  to  diffuse  the  taste 
for  that  high-flown  sentimentality.  Love,  accord- 
ing to  her  idea,  which  was,  indeed,  but  the  idea 
of  D'Urfe  and  the  Spanish  romancists  —  from 
whom    Corneille    borrowed    the    subjects    of    his 


A    FAITHLESS  KNIGHT  I03 

plays,  and  imbibed  similar  views  of  la  grande  pas- 
sion —  must  be  both  pure  and  passionate ;  the 
lover  must  worship  his  mistress  ;  must  pay  her 
the  most  respectful  homage,  and  his  happiness 
must  be  that  she  will  deign  to  receive  it. 

In  her  youth  Madame  de  Sable  had  laid  it  down 
as  an  axiom  that  "  woman  was  created  to  be  the 
ornament  of  the  world,  and  to  receive  the  adora- 
tion of  man."  Later  on  in  life,  she  did  not  insist 
that  it  actually  was  so,  in  the  degenerate  age  in 
which  her  lot  was  cast,  but  that  such  was  origi- 
nally the  Creator's  beneficent  intention.  Since 
then,  man  had  become  disloyal,  not  only  to  woman, 
but  to  himself,  and  the  high  destiny  which  had  at 
first  been  assigned  to  all  mankind,  had  become 
the  happy  lot  but  of  few. 

When  she  was  Mdlle.  de  Sauvre,  her  bean  idtfal 
of  a  perfect  cavalier  was  the  Marechal  Due  de 
Montmorenci,  —  one  of  the  handsomest  men  of  his 
day,  and  brave  to  temerity,  —  who  was  beheaded 
at  Toulouse  in  1636,  having  joined  the  timid  and 
irresolute  Gaston  d' Orleans  in  a  plot  against 
Richelieu.  But  Mdlle.  de  Sauvre  had  then  ceased 
to  receive  his  homage.  He  had  been  her  *' galant 
et  Ji07inete  Jionnnc,''  according  to  the  honourable 
and  respectful  manner  then  in  vogue,  and  she 
had  rewarded  him  with  smiles  and  blushes,  indi- 
cating (so  it  was  thought)  almost  too  tender  a 
feeling  on  her  part.  Montmorenci,  faithless  knight, 
had,  however,  presumed  to  raise  his  eyes  to  Anne 


I04  OLD   PARIS 

of  Austria,  and  to  heave  a  deep  sigh  as  he  again 
cast  them  languidly  to  earth.  The  queen,  — 
'' pieiise  et  galante^' — like  Mdlle.  de  Sauvr6,  also 
deigned  to  reward  the  handsome  cavalier  with  a 
smile  and  a  blush.  The  lady  to  whom  he  had 
sworn  fealty,  being  informed  of  his  infidelity,  sum- 
moned him  to  her  presence  ;  not  to  reproach  him, 
but  to  dismiss  him  for  ever,  with  the  stigma  of 
disloyalty  on  his  conscience.  Admiration,  if 
shared  with  the  greatest  princess  in  the  world, 
could  be  but  displeasing  to  her.  These  platonic 
sentimentalities  were  the  fashion,  and  no  one  more 
piqued  himself  upon  them  than  triste  Louis 
XIII. 

But  the  widowed  Marquise  de  Sable,  arrived  at 
that  uncertain,  yet  unpleasantly  advanced,  period 
of  life  called  middle  age,  was  a  far  less  romantic 
person.  She  was  now  more  occupied  with  the  care 
of  her  health,  the  salvation  of  her  soul,  and  the 
amusement  of  her  mind  with  polite  literature,  as 
well  as  the  enlivening  of  the  quiet  routine  of  her 
life  by  assembling  around  her  the  aristocratic  and 
refined  society  she  had  so  long  been  accustomed 
to.  She  had  built  herself  a  residence  within  the 
precincts  of  Port  Royal  de  Paris,  but  quite  distinct 
from  the  monastery.  There  she  received  a  dis- 
tinguished circle  of  the  noblesse  and  the  literati, 
after  the  manner  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet, 
with  whose  traditions  she  was  perfectly  acquainted. 
It  was  the  re-establishment  of  the  salon  blen  in 


77//:    SALON   OF  PORT  ROYAL  IO5 

miniature,  subdued,  too,  by  the  shadow  of  a  shade 
of  soft  religious  light.  There  was  less  space,  but 
the  same  exquisite  taste  in  arrangement ;  the 
same  refinement  and  good  breeding  in  the  com- 
pany. The  conversation  was  sparkling  and  witty, 
the  prevailing  tone  decidedly  gallant.  For  al- 
though the  model  hostess  was  devout,  even  to  the 
extent  of  occasionally  secluding  herself  from  the 
world  for  a  day  or  two,  yet  her  devotion,  like  her- 
self and  her  surroundings,  had  an  elegance  in  it, 
unmarred  by  the  slightest  tinge  of  severity. 

The  Marquise  de  Sable  no  longer  visited  the 
court.  Her  Jansenism  would,  probably,  have 
caused  her  to  be  less  well  received  there  than 
formerly ;  yet  she  kept  on  excellent  terms  with 
her  friends  of  all  shades  of  theological  and  politi- 
cal opinion.  Religion  and  politics  were  tabooed 
subjects  in  her  salon  ;  but  she  was  fond  of  record- 
ing, in  the  form  of  a  maxiinc,  or  pensee,  the  result 
of  her  reflections  on  her  varied  experiences  of  the 
chequered  scenes  of  life.  In  this  way  originated 
the  "Maximes  et  Pensees  "  of  La  Rochefoucauld, 
who  was  one  of  her  most  intimate  friends.  It  was 
she  who  suggested  that  species  of  literature,  and 
gave  the  first  impulse  to  it ;  and  while  portraits 
were  the  rage  with  the  Luxembourg  circles, 
maxims  were  in  high  vogue  in  the  Port  Royal 
salon,  whence  they  spread  to  that  of  Madame  La 
Fayette  and  of  La  Rochefoucauld. 

The  maximes  and  pensees  were  handed  about, 


Io6  OLD    PARIS 

turned,  and  re -turned  ;  a  trait  of  wit  added,  or  a 
drop  of  acid  poured  in.  All  who  frequented  the 
Port  Royal  salon  were  expected  to  make,  or  to 
assist  in  making  them.  La  Rochefoucauld,  writ- 
ing to  Madame  de  Sable,  says  :  "  Voild  tout  ce  que 
far  dc  maximes.  Mais  conime  on  ne fait  rieti  pour 
rien,  je  vous  dcinande  nu  potage  aux  carottcs,  Jin 
rago{it  de  moutoii,  etc.  Excellent  in  everything, 
the  cuisiiie  of  her  establishment  was  noted  for  its 
recherche,  and  she  liked,  cn-tcte-tete,  or  parti  carre, 
that  her  friends  should  partake  with  her  of  her 
petits  plats  exquis. 

At  another  time.  La  Rochefoucauld  would  lay 
several  sentences  before  the  assembled  circle,  who 
criticized  and  discussed  them,  and  made  observa- 
tions on  their  construction,  by  which  he  often  prof- 
ited, and  greatly  improved  them.  The  bitter  or 
acid  tone  which  marks  them,  is,  however,  supposed 
to  be  rarely  due  to  any  one  but  himself.  Thus 
were  the  greater  part  of  those  tristes  and  cynical 
"  Maximes  et  Pensees  "  composed.  Huet  says, 
that  many  of  them  are  due  to  Madame  de  La 
Fayette,  who  lived  on  terms  of  very  close  inti- 
macy with  the  surly  egotist,  and  devoted  herself 
entirely  to  him  in  his  latter  years.  She  writes, 
with  reference  to  this  friendship:  ^^11  in  a  donne 
dc  r esprit,  etfai  refornie  son  cccury  But  of  esprit 
she  had  abundance  of  her  own,  and  he  had  no  heart 
to  reform. 

The  "Maximes  "  have  been  generally  considered 


LA    ROCHEFOUCAULD'S   PHILOSOrilY       lO/ 

false  and  commonplace  in  theory ;  and  to  a  great 
extent,  no  doubt,  they  are,  or  the  world  would  be 
a  more  heartless  and  dreary  one  than  it  actually 
is.  Rochefoucauld  depicted  himself  in  them,  and 
as  he  was  a  keen  observer,  he  saw,  probably,  in 
the  course  of  his  life  that  there  were  very  many 
in  the  world  not  unlike  him.  They  owe  much  of 
their  reputation  to  his  style,  which  is  sententious 
and  vigorous.  Their  piquancy  lies  less  in  the 
maxims,  or  thoughts  themselves,  than  in  the 
manner  in  which  their  malice  is  developed.  In- 
deed, as  a  writer.  La  Rochefoucauld  takes  a  very 
high  place ;  as  a  philosopher,  few  allow  him  any 
merit,  or  even  the  claim  to  be  ranked  as  one. 

The  author  of  the  famous  "  Lettres  Provin- 
ciales "  was  another  celebrity  of  the  Jansenist 
salon  of  the  Marquise  de  Sable.  He,  too,  was 
fain  to  contribute  his  quota  of  maxims  to  the  gen- 
eral  budget.  Influenced,  probably,  by  the  gentle 
and  genial  disposition  of  the  lady,  his  mood  was  less 
severe  when  his  pen  was  employed  to  gratify  her 
than  when  it  traced  \)!\o%^ pcnsces  that  were  intended 
as  the  preparation  for  a  work,  in  which  he  proposed 
to  prove  the  truth  of  the  Christian  religion.  Pascal 
wrote  for  Madame  de  Sable : 

"  Toutcs  les  sottiscs  et  Ics  injustices  que  je  7te  fais 
pas  m  anenvent  la  bile. 

"  [/n  pen  de  bon  temps,  un  bon-mot,  nne  louange, 
une  caresse,  me  tire>it  cV nne  profonde  tristesse  dont 
je  71  ai  pit  me  tirer  par  auciin  effort  de  meditation. 


I08  OLD   PARIS 

Quelle  machine  que  vion  dine  !  Quel  abinic  de  misere 
et  de  faiblesse  !  " 

Pascal  was  the  most  eloquent  of  the  prose  writ- 
ers of  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century.  His 
"Lettres  Provinciales,"  addressed  to  the  Jesuits 
in  defence  of  the  Jansenists,  —  when  the  disputes 
respecting  the  five  heretical  propositions  of  Jan- 
senius  were  agitating  Rome,  and  the  religious 
world  of  France,  —  are,  in  force  of  style  and  purity 
of  language,  models  of  fine  writing  and  eloquent 
irony.  The  consciousness  of  powerful  genius  occa- 
sionally appears  in  the  slightly  arbitrary  tone  of 
some  of  the  pensees.  In  the  work  which  was  to  be 
based  on  them  —  but  which  his  premature  death 
in  his  thirty-ninth  year  prevented  him  from  enter- 
ing upon  —  he  proposed  to  show  that  the  Christian 
religion  is  not  contrary  to  reason  ;  that  it  is  ven- 
erable —  both  inspiring  and  conferring  respect  ; 
that  it  is  so  gentle  and  amiable  one  would  wish  it 
to  be  true;  that  it  is  holy,  from  its  grandeur  and 
elevation ;  and  that,  as  it  promises  mankind  the 
truest  good  and  happiness,  it  is  worthy  of  the 
highest  veneration  and  love.  Pascal's  genius 
developed  itself  early,  and  early  he  was  taken 
away.  His  career  is  interesting,  but  as  it  is 
generally  known,  need  not  be  enlarged  upon  here. 

Madame  de  Sable  did  not  put  her  own  "  Max- 
imes  et  Pensees  "  into  print.  If  she  produced  any 
that  were  piquantes  or  worthy  of  being  preserved, 
they  were  probably  included  amongst  those  of  La 


.VAXIMES  BE   MADAME   BE  SABLE         IO9 

Rochefoucauld.  A  few  exist  in  private  papers 
and  letters  of  the  time.  Victor  Cousin,  in  his 
"  Femmes  illustres,"  gives  the  following  as  Madame 
de  Sable's  : 

"  //  J  a  un  certain  empire  dans  la  vianih^e  de 
parler  et  dans  les  actions,  qui  se  fait  faire  place 
partout,  et  qui  gagne  par  avajice  la  consideration  el 
le  respect. 

"  Le  covunent  faire  la  meilleure  partie  des  choses, 
et  I' air  qn'on  lenr  donne,  dore,  accoimnode,  et  adoiicit 
les  pins  facheuses. 

^' Etre  trop  viecontent  de  soi  est  nne  faiblesse ; 
etrop  content  de  soi,  nne  sottise.'' 

They  are  neither  very  witty  nor  profound,  but 
they  are  characteristic  of  their  author. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  King's  Illness.  —  The  Quack  and  the  Court  Physicians. 
—  Mazarin  flatters  Cromwell.  —  Debut  of  Moliere  in 
"  L'fitourdi." — La  Troupe  de  Monsieur.  —  Les  Precieuses 
at  les  Pecques.  —  Life  of  a  Provincial  Actor. — Moliere's 
Prose  Plays.  —  "Les  Jansenistes  d'Amour." 

I  HE  king  was  twenty  years  of  age,  and 
still  the  government  remained  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  Mazarin.  He  now 
ruled  France  despotically,  though  once  again  he 
had  prepared  for  flight,  as  well  as  for  carrying 
with  him  the  enormous  wealth  he  had  fraudu- 
lently amassed.  It  was  when  the  king  fell  ill 
in  Calais,  whither  the  cardinal  had  taken  him 
while  the  English  and  French  troops,  commanded 
by  Turenne,  were  fighting  the  Spaniards  in  Flan- 
ders. For  some  days  the  death  of  Louis  was  fully 
expected,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  Phil- 
ippe, Monsieur.  The  courtiers  flattered  the  young 
prince,  and  the  spirit  of  the  P>onde  revived  in 
cabals  against  "le  Mazarin."  In  the  last  extrem- 
ity, a  provincial  quack,  in  repute  for  the  cures  he 
had  effected,  was  sent  for  from  Abbeville  to  see 
the  royal  patient.  Having  examined  him,  he  con- 
fidently announced  that  "  Ic  beau  garcoii,  quoiqiie 
no 


MAZARIN  FLATTERS   CROMWELL  III 

bien  maladc  n  en  mourroit  pas^'  and,  forthwith, 
proceeded  to  administer  remedies  that  horrified 
the  court  physicians,  but  put  the  king  out  of 
danger,  and  soon  restored  him  to  health.  The 
courtiers  no  longer  bestowed  the  attentions  on 
Philippe,  and  a  few  sentences  of  banishment 
broke  up  the  Parisian  cabal  against  the  cardinal. 
He  now  thought  it  high  time  to  marry  the 
king,  and  applied  for  the  hand  of  Maria  Theresa 
of  Spain.  It  did  not  then  suit  the  views  of 
Philip  IV.  to  give  his  daughter  to  Louis  XIV., 
who,  on  his  part,  after  several  amours  passagcrs, 
seemed  to  have  become  seriously  attached  to 
little  fat,  ugly  Maria  Mancini.  She  had  been 
asked  in  marriage  by  Prince  Charles  Stuart 
(Charles  II.).  But  his  fortunes  were  then  at  a 
very  low  ebb,  and  his  proposal  was  of  course 
rejected.  Mazarin  was,  at  that  time,  compli- 
menting and  courting  "  Ic  plus  grand  honinic  du 
vwnde,"  as  he  termed  Cromwell,  with  whom 
France  was  then  in  alliance,  and  to  whom  Dun- 
querque  —  the  stipulated  price  for  the  aid  of  his 
troops  in  expelling  the  Spaniards  from  Flanders 
—  had  just  been  delivered  over,  the  cardinal 
having  vainly  tried  to  evade  fulfilling  the  ar- 
rangement. He  is  said  to  have  desired  to  marry 
his  niece  to  Richard  Cromwell ;  but  when,  after 
Cromwell's  death,  the  tide  unexpectedly  turned, 
Mazarin  became  willing  that  Maria  should  be 
Queen  of  England.     Charles,  however,  then  de- 


112  OLD   PARIS 

clined  to  entertain  the  ^overtures  made  to  him. 
It  seems  doubtful  whether  Louis  really  had  so 
much  love  for  Maria  Mancini  as  to  wish  to  make 
her  his  wife ;  but,  at  all  events,  their  parting, 
though  one  of  weeping  and  sighing  to  her,  was 
not,  apparently,  very  grievous  to  him. 

If  he  did  feel  a  slight  passing  pang,  he  found 
balm  in  abundance  to  soothe  it  in  the  shape 
of  gross  flattery  that  he  loved  so  well,  and  which 
was  so  eagerly  administered  to  him  by  his  cour- 
tiers. And  it  was  more  soothing  still  when  it 
fell  from  the  lips  of  the  admiring,  if  frivolous 
circle  of  ladies,  who  composed  the  court  of 
Anne  of  Austria,  and  of  whose  conversation  and 
society  he  was  exceedingly  fond.  Mazarin,  too, 
who  sought  to  hold  him  in  leading-strings  as 
long  as  it  was  possible,  contrived  to  keep  up  a 
perpetual  round  of  pleasures  for  his  amusement, 
and  an  endless  succession  of  fetes  and  ballets, 
operas,  plays,  etc. 

Louis  read  with  exceeding  delight  the  romances 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  —  the  " grmide  ga- 
lanterie'"  of  her  heroes  being  especially  pleasing 
to  him — and  also  made  himself  acquainted  with 
the  tragedies  of  Corneille.  These  he  read  with 
the  Connetable  Colonne,  a  man  of  culture  and 
esprit,  who  afterwards  married  Maria  Mancini. 
Corneille,  at  this  time,  had  essayed  a  lighter  pen, 
in  comedy,  and  "  Le  Menteur "  had  appeared 
when  Moliere  made  his  debut  in  Paris,  as  an  actor 


fIDoliere 


d£but  of  moljeke  in  L'ETOURDI     I  13 

and  a  dramatist,  in  his  first  play  of  "  L'Etourdi." 
He  played  before  the  king  and  the  court,  and  at 
once  established  himself  in  the  favour  of  Louis. 
His  troupe  was  named  the  "Troupe  de  Monsieur," 
and  performed  at  the  Petit  Bourbon. 

Jean  Baptiste  Poquelin,  throwing  up  the  study 
of  the  law,  began  at  the  age  of  twenty-five  the 
career  of  an  actor.  At  first  he  played  only  as  an 
amateur  ;  then,  adopting  the  stage  as  a  profession, 
took  the  name  of  Moliere,  and  joined  the  com- 
pany of  strollers  calling  themselves  "  L'illustre 
Theatre,"  his  aim  being  to  perfect  himself  in  the 
provinces.  After  an  absence  of  twelve  years 
he  returned  to  Paris,  a  finished  comedian,  and 
with  the  reputation  —  founded  on  the  success  of 
"L'Etourdi"  at  Lyon  —  of  a  most  promising 
dramatist.  "  Le  depit  amoureux,"  which  fol- 
lowed "L'Etourdi,"  confirmed  the  favourable 
impression  already  made,  and  the  "  Troupe  de 
Monsieur  "  threw  quite  into  the  shade  the  other 
company  of  players,  then  performing  in  Paris,  at 
the  Hotel  de  Bourgogne.  From  his  long  sojourn 
in  the  provinces,  and  the  nature  of  his  profession 
—  which  necessitated  frequent  appeals  for  protec- 
tion and  patronage  to  the  petite  noblesse  and  rich 
bourgeoisie  of  the  various  towns  he  and  his  com- 
panions temporarily  abode  in —  Moliere,  keen  in  his 
observation  of  character,  had  become  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  manners,  the  excessive  pre- 
tensions,  and    assumption    of    airs    of    exceeding 


I  14  OLD   PARIS 

refinement,  then  prevailing  in  the  coteries  of 
provincial  magnates,  who  were  styled  pecqiies  or 
pecores  in  Parisian  circles. 

"  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  "  was  produced  in  the 
second  year  of  Moliere's  establishment  in  Paris. 
He  was  a  slow  writer,  and  the. play  had  probably 
been  for  some  time  in  preparation,  its  object  —  as 
many  French  writers  suppose  —  being  to  hold  up 
to  ridicule  the  extreme  affectation,  both  in  man- 
ners and  language,  of  \.\\q  pecgaes.  The  Hotel  de 
Rambouillet  had  been  closed  to  society  for  more 
than  fifteen  years,  and  Moliere  had  never  fre- 
quented it.  The  salons  open  to  a  social  circle  in 
1659,  in  the  hotels  of  les  grands  seigneurs  et 
grandes  dames,  were  not  generally  literary  or  very 
remarkable  for  refinement.  Those  of  La  Roche- 
foucauld and  Madame  de  Sable  were  the  excep- 
tions, and  approached  much  nearer  than  others  to 
the  literary  and  social  distinction  of  Rambouillet. 

The  great  difference  between  the  first  salon  and 
its  imitators  was  the  difference  in  the  ladies  that 
presided  over  and  gave  the  tone  to  them.  The 
marquise  never  had  a  successor  worthy  of  being 
compared  with  her.  Her  great  appreciation  of 
genius  and  talent,  her  own  accomplishments,  high 
moral  principles,  and  genial,  social  disposition, 
were  the  great  attractions  in  the  days  of  her 
youth,  and  the  early  years  of  Rambouillet.  In  its 
second  period,  a  charming  family  had  grown  up 
around  her,  and  while  she  had  increased  in  ma- 


LIFE    OF  A    PROVINCIAL    ACTOR  II5 

tronly  dignity,  but  remained  kindly  and  cheerful 
as  before,  the  society  had  become  neither  staid 
nor  pretentious.  For  then,  the  graceful  Julie,  the 
coquettish  Claire,  and  the  spirited  young  Marquis 
de  Pisani,  together  with  their  companions,  the 
youthful  members  of  the  Jiautc  noblesse,  and  the 
general  circle  formed  a  happy  melange  of  genius 
and  learning,  liveliness,  wit,  youth,  and  beauty  ; 
assembled  for  pleasant  conversation,  learned  dis- 
cussion, or  mirthful  amusement,  without  the  then 
usual  alloy  of  grossness  and  ill  manners. 

The  life  of  a  provincial  actor  —  especially  at  a 
period  when  coarseness  and  depravity,  even  in  the 
higher  ranks  of  society,  were  general — was  little 
calculated  to  inspire  respect  for  the  decencies  of 
speech  and  conduct.  Moliere  had  none.  And 
the  pr/cieuses  at  this  time,  in  their  zeal  to  oppose 
the  prevailing  corruption,  and  to  offer  an  example 
of  delicacy  of  taste  and  sentiment,  of  urbanity  of 
manners  and  refinement  in  language,  fell  into  the 
error  of  carrying  all  this  to  the  extreme  of  affec- 
tation, and  rendering  ridiculous  a  commendable 
intention.  Moliere  availed  himself  (so  it  has  been 
suggested)  of  this  fatal  mistake  to  name  his  play 
"  Les  Precieuses  ridicules  "  — his  satire  on  his 
provincial  patrons  serving  also  for  a  satirical 
attack  on  the  precieuses  of  the  capital.  This  may 
be  an  erroneous  view  of  the  question,  but  Ro- 
ederer  —  who  thoroughly  studied  that  period,  and 
especially  all  that  relates  to  Rambouillet  and  les 


Il6  OLD   PARIS 

precieuses  —  is  of  opinion  that  Moliere  has  been 
misunderstood.  He  conceives  that  his  sarcasm 
was  aimed  at  the  affectations  and  hypocrisy  of  the 
^^ pecores provinciales  ct  bourgeoises,''  and  that  if  he 
succeeded  in  purging  the  language  of  some  of 
their  ridiculous  forms  of  expression,  the  credit 
of  banishing  both  from  it,  and  from  manners,  the 
grossness,  obscenity,  and  shameless  effrontery 
Moliere  encouraged,  is  due  to  the  illustrious 
women  of  the  Rambouillet  school  and  their  suc- 
cessors. 

The  Due  de  Montausier's  twelve  years'  devo- 
tion to  Julie  d'Angennes  is  supposed  to  be  re- 
ferred to  in  the  theory  of  Cathos  ("  Precieuses 
ridicules  "),  but  when  it  is  explained  that  the  due 
was  a  Calvinist,  the  passage  loses  its  point.  If 
Madolon  be  meant  for  Madeleine,  the  portrait 
bears  no  resemblance  to  her.  The  "  Precieuses  " 
was  not  in  verse.  Some  persons  prefer  Moliere's 
prose  plays,  yet  it  is  probable  that  his  plays  would 
have  been  less  generally  known  had  all  been  writ- 
ten in  prose  —  his  versification  being  easy,  and 
his  meaning  clearly  and  naturally  expressed,  so 
that  the  mind  readily  receives  and  retains  the 
impression  he  would  convey  to  it,  while  the  flow- 
ing rhymes  linger  long  in  the  memory. 

Moliere  was  well  received  in  the  salon  of  Ninon, 
which  was  then  frequented  by  the  most  brilliant 
and  spirited  society  in  Paris.  As  she  advanced 
in    years    her    reputation    increased.     Ninon   had 


LES  JANSENISTKS   D' AMOUR  WJ 

become  too  familiar  an  epithet  ;  she  was  now 
Mademoiselle  de  Lenclos,  icnc  fermne  d' esprit,  and 
a  person  of  great  consideration.  In  her  salon 
Moliere  may  have  acquired  his  knowledge  of  the 
"  Precieuses,"  for  of  the  fashionable  follies,  amuse- 
ments, or  vices  of  the  capital  he  would  have  known 
nothing  while  in  the  provinces,  as  no  newspapers 
then  carried,  daily,  minute  particulars  of  all  that 
was  going  on  in  Paris  to  every  part  of  France. 
Ninon  had  wittily  said  of  the  prcciejises  that  they 
were  "  Lcs  Jansenistes  d' amour,''  and  the  viot  had 
found  favour.  The  gentle  Jansenism  of  Madame 
de  Sable  tolerated  all  that  conduced  to  render  ex- 
istence pleasant ;  but  the  pure  Jansenism  of  Port 
Royal  des  Champs  was  as  intolerant  of  pleasures 
and  amusements  as  Calvinism  itself,  and,  particu- 
larly, it  inveighed  against  the  theatre.  Between 
Moliere  and  the  Jansenists  there  was,  therefore,  a 
natural  antipathy,  like  that  between  the  king  and 
the  precieuses,  as  representatives  of  the  Jansenism 
of  love. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Distress  in  France.  —  The  Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees.  —  The  Resto- 
ration of  Charles  II.  —  Maria  Theresa  of  Spain.  —  Bridal 
Cortege  of  Louis  XIV.  —  The  Cardinal-Minister. —  Hercules 
in  Love.  —  Parental  Authority  of  Mazarin.  —  Return  of 
Conde  and  Les  Frondeurs.  —  Madame  de  Scudery.  —  Scar- 
ron.  —  Death  of  Mazarin.  —  Affected  Grief  of  Louis  XIV. 

HE  year  1659  was  one  of  distress  and 
suffering  in  France  to  those  who  had  to 
bear  the  burden  of  taxation.  Mazarin's 
fraudulent  measures  for  enriching  himself  made 
it  ever  increasingly  oppressive,  and  every  one's 
cash-box  was  empty  save  that  of  the  all-powerful 
minister.  When  the  king  wanted  a  little  pocket- 
money,  and  applied  for  it  to  the  siirintcndant  dcs 
finances,  that  very  amiable  functionary  would  reply, 
"  Sire,  there  is  no  money  in  your  majesty's  coffers, 
but  Monsieur  le  Cardinal  will  lend  you  some." 

Besides  the  necessity  for  supplying  by  some 
means  the  urgently-pressed  wants  of  the  king, 
large  sums  were  still  needed  for  carrying  on  the 
war  with  Spain.  The  country,  however,  sighed 
for  peace,  and  as  its  finances  were  exhausted, 
Mazarin's  wishes  and  views  were  in  sympathy  with 
it.  The  result  was  the  famous  treaty  of  the  Pyre- 
nees. The  cardinal,  in  person,  concluded  it  with 
118 


RESTORATION  OF  CHARLES  II.  I  I9 

Don  Louis  de  Haro,  after  some  months  had  been 
spent  in  settling  the  important  question  of  prece- 
dency ;  for  the  cardinals  claimed  equality  with 
kings,  and  the  cardinal-minister  of  France  (which 
assumed  to  be  pre-eminent  among  the  nations  of 
Europe)  was  not  disposed  on  such  an  occasion  to 
abate  one  title  of  his  pretensions.  As  his  power 
was  now  greater  than  even  that  of  Richelieu  had 
been,  so  the  once  doux  and,  when  expedient, 
humble  Mazarin,  now  displayed  greater  magnifi- 
cence and  regal  state  than  his  arrogant  and  tyran- 
nical predecessor  had  done. 

During  the  conferences  of  the  French  and 
Spanish  plenipotentiaries,  Prince  Charles  Stuart 
—  who  hoped  that  some  clause  favourable  to  him- 
self might  be  introduced  into  the  treaty,now  Crom- 
well was  dead  —  vainly  endeavoured  to  obtain  an 
interview  with  either.  They  not  only  declined  to 
discuss  his  claims,  but  even  to  admit  him  to  their 
august  presence.  The  French  court  had  gone  into 
mourning  for  Cromwell  —  Charles's  prospect  of 
ever  reigning  in  England  being  considered  a  hope- 
less one.  Yet  before  the  treaty  of  peace  was 
signed,  and  the  arrangements  for  the  marriage  of 
the  king,  by  proxy,  with  Maria  Theresa  of  Spain 
were  completed,  Richard  Cromwell  had  given  up 
the  Protectorship,  and  Charles  was  firmly  seated 
on  the  English  throne. 

Notwithstanding  the  emptiness  of  the  ex- 
chequer, the  preparations  in  Paris  for  the  public 


120  OLD   PARIS 

entry  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom  were  on  a  scale 
more  extensive  and  magnificent  than  any  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  old  city  had  hitherto  witnessed. 
A  triumphal  arch,  of  which  Claude  Perrault  gave 
the  design,  was  erected  at  the  end  of  the  Avenue 
de  Vincennes.  The  Porte  St.  Antoine  was  en- 
tirely rebuilt  and  elaborately  sculptured.  Anne 
of  Austria,  who  forty-five  years  before  had  passed 
along  the  same  route  —  a  girl -bride  with  her  boy- 
husband— was  now  seated  at  one  of  the  windows 
of  the  Hotel  de  Beauvais  in  the  Rue  St.  An- 
toine, wrapped  in 'V/wrf^zrt/z/^"  «^/;r,"  to  witness  the 
entry  of  the  triumphal  cortege  of  Louis  XIV.  and 
Maria  Theresa,  her  niece.  The  young  queen  was 
of  the  same  age  as  the  king — twenty-two.  She 
was  not  beautiful,  but  was  gentle  and  amiable,  and 
in  appearance  very  youthful,  from  the  childlike 
slightness  of  her  figure  and  her  diminutive  height. 
Those  monstrosities,  very  high  head-dresses 
{coijfures  etagees)  and  very  high-heeled  shoes,  were 
introduced  to  give  her  an  air  of  more  importance  ; 
but  as  all  the  ladies  of  her  court  wore  them,  her 
want  of  dignity,  from  the  insignificance  of  her 
person,  was  none  the  less  apparent.  The  contrast 
between  the  figure  of  the  little  timid  queen-consort 
and  that  of  the  Juno-like  queen-mother  was  very 
striking  and  not  favourable  to  the  former.  Her 
knowledge  of  French  was  exceedingly  limited,  and 
it  does  not  appear  that  she  ever  acquired  any  great 
fluency   in    it.      Louis    had   attempted,  when    the 


BRIDAL    CORTEGE   OF  LOUIS  XIV.         121 

marriage  was  definitively  arranged,  to  make  some 
acquaintance  with  Spanish,  but  had  not  been  very 
successful.  The  habits  of  idleness  he  had  been 
brought  up  in  had  indisposed  his  mind  to  study, 
and  he  was  incapable  of  that  sustained  attention 
and  application  necessary  to  become  master  of  a 
language. 

Attended  by  a  numerous  suite,  Louis  set  out  to 
receive  his  bride  at  the  frontier,  and  the  marriage 
was  solemnized  on  the  9th  of  June,  1660.  On 
the  26th  of  August  they  made  their  public  entry. 
Maria  Theresa,  arrayed  in  white  satin  and  wearing 
a  profusion  of  pearls,  looked  a  very  interesting, 
pretty  little  girl  as  she  reclined  on  the  cushions 
of  a  magnificently  painted  and  gilded  triumphal 
car.  It  was  lined  with  rich  crimson  velvet,  and 
numberless  sculptured  and  gilded  loves,  doves, 
and  cupids  were  grouped  around,  it.  A  royal 
mantle  of  violet  velvet,  lined  with  white  satin 
and  embroidered  with  fleurs-de-lis  in  pearls  and 
gold,  was  tastefully  arranged  on  her  shoulders, 
and  partially  covered  her  petite  personne.  She 
carried  a  superb  Moorish  fan.  Her  Spanish 
gloves  were  splendidly  embroidered,  and  had 
tassels  of  pearls  ;  and  a  veil,  or  mantilla,  of  trans- 
parent gold  blonde  shaded  her  face.  Beside  the 
car  rode  Louis  XIV.,  a  fine  young  man  with  a 
very  grand  air,  and,  at  a  short  distance,  handsome. 
The  small-pox  had  slightly  damaged  the  smooth- 
ness   of    his    skin    and    clearness    of    complexion. 


122  OLD    PARIS 

This  horrible  disease  had  attacked  him  in  his 
childhood,  but  with  less  virulence  than  too  fre- 
quently was  the  case  at  that  period ;  so  that 
though  traces  of  it  were  visible  in  his  face,  they 
had  not  produced  any  actual  disfigurement. 

Louis's  dress  rivalled  in  magnificence  that  of  his 
bride.  His  coat  was  of  cloth  of  gold,  covered 
with  black  lace.  Ruffles  and  collar  of  white 
point-lace,  of  the  most  exquisite  fineness;  em- 
broidered gloves  ;  a  diamond-hilted  sword ;  and  a 
plumed  hat,  looped  with  a  diamond  that  glittered 
like  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude.  Boots  of 
embroidered  leather,  and  gold  spurs  elaborately 
wrought ;  a  charger  that  pranced  and  curvetted 
and  seemed  as  proud  as  its  rider,  and  was  no  less 
richly  caparisoned.  A  brilliant  retinue  followed ; 
grands  seigneurs  all  of  them,  and  their  dress 
similiar  to  that  of  the  king.  Not  the  least  grand 
part  of  the  show  was  the  cardinal-minister,  in  a 
splendid  carriage  —  the  panels  painted  by  Le 
Brun,  whom  Fouquet  then  patronized.  A  com- 
pany of  moiisqiietaires  escorted  him,  riding  on 
either  side  of  his  carriage,  his  own  guards  follow- 
ing. He  was  even  more  meagre  than  when  he 
set  out  for  the  Pyrenees.  He  looked  careworn 
and  anxious,  and  there  was  a  feverish  glitter  in  his 
deep-set  Italian  eyes. 

Surrounded  by  all  the  trappings  of  royalty,  he 
excited  considerable  attention,  more  indeed  than 
seemed    to    be    agreeable    to    him  —  perhaps    a 


HERCULES   IN  LOVE  1 23 

thought  of  the  Fronde  flashed  across  his  mind,  and 
a  reminiscence  of  ''A  bas  Ics  Alazarin  !  "  echoed  in 
his  ears.  But  all  such  cries  were  at  an  end,  and 
the  throng  in  the  streets  was  an  admiring  one, 
without  a  thought  of  sedition. 

"Dim/  quel  jolt  garqoii!'''  exclaimed  the 
women,  who  pushed  and  scrambled  to  have  a  good 
look  at  the  king  as  he  passed. 

''All  !  "  said  another,  "  que  cctte  petite  femme 
doit  etre  heiireiise  !  " 

"  Que  le  Mazarin  a  tair  malade"  whispered  one 
man  to  another  with  bated  breath,  but  with  a 
gleam  of  joy  on  his  countenance. 

And  thus  the  bridal  cortege  passed  on  to  the 
Louvre.* 

A  succession  of  fetes  and  entertainments  fol- 
lowed. Moliere  and  his  troupe  performed  before 
the  bridal  party ;  but  the  principal  theatrical 
entertainment  was  the  Italian  opera  of  "  Ercole 
Amante."  Italian  artists  came  from  Italy,  by 
Mazarin's  order,  for  its  representation.  Between 
the  acts  were  ballets,  arranged  with  reference  to 
the  subject  of  the  opera,  and  which  were  danced 
by  the  king  and  queen  and  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men of  the  court.  The  Abbe  Milani  sang  one  of 
the  principal  parts  of  the  opera,  and  two  French 

*  In  a  letter  of  Madame  Scarron  to  a  friend,  she  describes  the 
bridal  procession  at  some  length.  She  was  amongst  the  crowd 
of  spectators,  and  it  was  on  this  occasion  that  (according  to  the 
idea  of  Roederer)  she  fell  in  love  with  the  king. 


124  OLD   PARIS 

artistes,  Mesdemoiselles  Saint  Hilaire  and  La 
Barre  made  their  debuts  in  it.  "  Ercole  Amante" 
was  the  first  opera  played  in  France  with  an  over- 
ture. 

Phihppe,  Monsieur,  during  these  bridal  fetes 
had  taken  a  great  fancy  (one  can  hardly  accuse 
him  of  falling  in  love)  to  the  lively  Henriette 
d'Angleterre,  sister  of  Charles  II.  He  desired  to 
marry  her;  but  Mazarin  so  strongly  opposed  it 
that  Philippe  was  obliged  to  yield.  So  much  had 
Anne  of  Austria  brought  up  her  sons  in  blind 
obedience  to  the  will  of  the  cardinal,  that,  from 
habit,  they  continued  to  allow  him  to  exercise  the 
authority  of  a  father  over  them,  while  she  fretted 
under  the  yoke  she  had  prepared  for  herself  and 
now  was  unable  to  throw  off.  The  king  at  times 
displayed  a  little  impatience  of  control,  but  wanted 
resolution  to  make  the  necessary  effort  to  be  free. 
Knowing  that  he  could  not  be  king  while  the 
cardinal  lived,  he  turned  again  to  his  pleasures, 
and  displayed  his  fine  figure  in  the  grave  dances 
of  " /^-j"  ballets  serieiix ;''  his  dexterity  in  les  courses 
de  bagties,  in  the  grounds  of  the  Palais  Royal,  and 
his  taste  for  magnificence  and  display,  in  the  grand 
carrousels  in  the  court  of  the  Louvre. 

1660  was  an  eventful  year  to  France.  The 
great  Conde  returned  to  his  country,  as  by  the 
Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees  it  was  stipulated  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  do,  together  with  all  the 
Froiideurs  then  in  banishment  who  had  been  com- 


A' ETC/ A' A'  OF  CONDE  AND  LES  ERONDEUKS    I  25 

promised  by  joining  in  his  rebellion.  Gaston,  Due 
d' Orleans,  died  at  Blois  about  this  time  ;  but  his 
daughter,  la  Grande  Mademoiselle,  and  Ics  dames 
frondciiscs  received  permission  again  to  appear  at 
court.  Madame  la  Princesse  was  dead,  also  the 
Due  de  Longueville ;  and  the  duchess  was  living 
in  strict  retirement  at  a  distant  estate.  When 
Mademoiselle  paid  her  first  visit  to  the  court, 
Anne  of  Austria  received  her  with  a  great  show 
of  affection,  and  presented  her  herself  to  the  king. 
"  Voild!''  she  said,  *' iine  demoiselle  qui  a  ete  bien 
me'cJiante,  mais  qui  promct  d'etre  bien  sage  a  Vave- 
niry  The  king  then  embraced  her.  "I  ought 
to  throw  myself  at  your  feet!"  exclaimed  Made- 
moiselle. "  I  rather  should  throw  myself  at  yours, 
my  cousin,"  replied  the  king,  "when  I  hear  you 
speak  thus."  Many  more  compliments  followed, 
de  part  et  d' autre,  2in(l  thus  they  were  reconciled, 
or  affected  to  be. 

Georges  de  Scudery,  with  his  wife  and  son,  also 
reappeared  in  Paris,  and  made  his  peace  with  the 
court.  His  wife's  relative,  the  Due  de  Saint 
Aignan,  presented  him  to  the  King,  who,  in  con- 
sideration of  his  literary  renown,  which  at  one  time 
had  rivalled  that  of  Corneille,  gave  him  a  pension, 
and  conferred  a  benefice  on  his  son,  a  child  of  five, 
already  destined  for  the  Church.  Georges  survived 
but  a  few  years  longer.  His  widow,  still  young, 
was  well  received  and  much  esteemed  in  society. 
She  wrote  those  pretty  bagatelles  in  verse,  then 


126  OLD    PARIS 

SO  greatly  in  favour  and  fashion,  and  was  lively 
and  witty,  and  distinguished  for  her  elegance  of 
manner. 

Poor  Scarron,  also,  was  dead,  and,  according  to 
De  Beaumelle  and  other  writers,  the  piety  of  his 
wife  had  so  much  influence  upon  him  that  he  died 
in  the  odour  of  sanctity.  Madame  Scarron  was, 
therefore,  as  successful  in  turning  her  poor  crip- 
pled scapegrace  from  the  error  of  his  ways,  and 
saving  his  soul,  as  was  Madame  de  Maintenon  in 
bringing  about  the  same  happy  result  in  the  case 
of  her  magnificent  bashaw. 

The  changes  that  had  occurred  in  society,  the 
reconciliations  effected,  the  deaths  that  had  taken 
place,  the  many  new  names  that  were  rising  into 
notice  in  literature,  in  the  arts,  etc.  —  all  seemed 
to  announce  the  dawn  of  a  new  era  in  France.  In 
1 66 1  the  health  of  Mazarin  gradually  declined ;  he 
was  worn  out  by  the  cares,  anxieties,  and  agitation 
of  mind  he  had  undergone  during  the  last  eight 
years  in  order  securely  to  retain  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment while  he  heaped  up  wealth,  of  which  he 
had  little  enjoyment,  except,  perhaps,  in  the  pleas- 
ure of  amassing  it.  He  was  anxious  about  it  at 
the  last  ;  and,  as  if  to  stamp  with  legal  right  his 
possession  of  such  enormous  wealth,  he  determined 
to  run  the  risk  of  presenting  it  wholly  to  the  king. 
Louis  accepted  the  gift,  and  the  cardinal  remained 
in  miserable  suspense  for  three  whole  days,  trem- 
bling lest  the  ill-gotten  treasure  should  be  irrecov- 


AFFECTED    GRIEF  OF  LOUIS  XIV.  I  2/ 

erably  lost  to  his  family.  Those  days  must  have 
seemed  to  him  as  long  as  three  years ;  but  at  the 
end  of  them,  Louis  decided  to  restore  the  gift. 

On  the  gth  of  March,  1661,  Mazarin  died.  His 
exit  from  the  world's  stage  is  said  to  have  been 
the  most  edifying  part  of  his  career.  When  the 
long-desired  event  became  known,  bourgeois  met 
bourgeois  with  the  joyful  salutation,  ^^  Enfiii,  le 
Mazarin  est  niort!''  Even  the  queen-mother 
seemed  relieved  by  it.  But  the  king,  putting  into 
practice  the  lessons  of  dissimulation  which  she  and 
his  foster-father  had  so  sedulously  taught  him, 
affected  grief  for  the  loss  he  had  sustained.  "// 
sera  Ml  grand  roi^'  Mazarin  had  said  many  years 
before,  "  il  ne  dit pas  un  mot  de  ce  qu'il pense.''  His 
secret  satisfaction,  however,  peeped  out  when  he 
said  openly  that  he  "knew  not  what  he  might  have 
been  tempted  to  do  had  the  cardinal  lived  much 
longer." 

The  court  mourned  only  for  royalty  ;  but  Henry 
IV.,  in  ordering  a  court  mourning  for  ''la  belle 
Gabrielle,"  had  furnished  a  precedent  for  depart- 
ing from  the  customary  restriction,  and  for  the 
first  time  since  that  event  (unless  the  mourning 
for  Cromwell  be  considered  an  instance  of  the 
same  kind),  the  precedent  was  followed  at  Maza- 
rin's  death.  Black  and  violet  were  worn  for  three 
months,  and  the  wits  wrote  the  cardinal's  epitaph  : 

"  Ci  git  rfiminence  deuxieme, 
Dieu  nous  jjarde  de  la  troisieme." 


CHAPTER    XL 

Philippe,  Monsieur,  becomes  Due  d'Orleans.  —  Marriage  of 
Philippe.  —  Henriette  d'Angleterre.  —  The  Palais  Royal 
given  to  Philippe.  —  Moliere's  Success  as  a  Courtier.  —  Jean 
Baptiste  Lulli.— His  Skill  as  a  Violinist.  —  French  Academy 
of  Music.  —  Musical  Entertainments.  —  The  Lyric  Poet, 
Quinault.  —  Racine's  Bridal  Ode  to  the  Queen.  —  The  Man 
in  the  Iron  Mask. 


j HOUGH  the  court  was  in  mourning,  it 
caused  no  interruption  to  its  round  of 
pleasures.  Philippe,  Monsieur,  imme- 
diately after  the  cardinal's  death,  carried  out  his 
wish  of  marrying  Henriette,  though  both  Louis 
and  the  queen-mother  were  opposed  to  it.  Gas- 
ton's title  of  Due  d'Orleans  was  conferred  on  him, 
and  Philippe  became  the  head  of  the  new  branch 
of  the  Orleans  family.  The  balls,  2i\\d  fetes,  and 
theatrical  entertainments  that  took  place  on  the 
marriage  of  the  king  were  renewed  with  increased 
animation  to  celebrate  the  nuptials  of  Monsieur. 
Henriette,  in  features,  greatly  resembled  her 
brother,  Charles  H.  This  conveys  to  the  mind 
no  idea  of  female  beauty.  We  learn  also  that  she 
was  excessively  thin,  and  had  the  not  uncommon 
defect  of  being  *^  leghement  bossue."  But  she  was 
amiable  and  witty ;  her  manners  were  pleasing,  and 
128 


MARRIAGE    OF  PHILIPPE  I  29 

she  had  a  very  sweet  voice  and  a  winning  smile. 
Monsieur,  according  to  Madame  de  La  Fayette, 
"//«//  iVune  beaiite  et  (Tune  taille plus  cotivenable  a 
une  princesse  qiia  un  prince,''  and  Madame  de 
Motteville  describes  his  great  beauty  as  a  child. 
Other  accounts  speak  less  favourably  of  his 
personal  appearance.  His  tastes  were  effeminate. 
He  was  fond  of  rings,  jewels,  perfumes,  ribands, 
and  such  like  feminine  adjuncts  of  the  toilette, 
and  affected  excessive  recherche  and  nicety  in  dress. 
Though  his  depravity  in  after  years  was  great, 
Monsieur  was  now  a  favourite  with  the  court ;  for 
he  infused  life  and  spirit  into  its  amusements, 
which  Louis  XIV.  did  not.  Much  rivalry  and 
little  affection  had  subsisted  between  the  brothers 
from  childhood.  Louis,  with  his  imaginary  god- 
like attributes,  was  both  oppressed  and  oppressive  ; 
Philippe,  to  whom  no  such  halo  of  glory  was  sup- 
posed to  belong,  had  ever  been  disposed  to  rebel 
against  his  brother's  great  pretensions  and  airs  of 
superiority.  Though  one  was  no  less  vicious  and 
ignorant  than  the  other,  yet  Philippe  as  a  child 
had  displayed  some  intellectual  capacity,  which 
was  immediately  stifled,  and  now,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  he  was  more  animated  and  lively  than 
Louis.  He  was  also  restless  and  capricious,  and 
displayed  a  degree  of  affability  that  permitted  al- 
most of  an  approach  to  friendship  with  some  of 
the  courtiers  who,  as  inferior  beings,  worshipped 
the  great  Louis. 


130  OLD   PARIS 

Henriette  was  then  just  seventeen.  Brought 
up  in  the  French  court,  she  had  acquired  the  ease 
and  grace  of  manner,  and  perfection  in  the  lan- 
guage which  at  that  period  distinguished  French 
women  of  rank,  and  which  gave  her  a  decided  ad- 
vantage over  the  timid  young  queen.  Maria 
Theresa  was  scarcely  able  to  make  herself  under- 
stood in  French,  and  there  was  a  rigidity  in  her 
manners  that,  to  one  accustomed  until  the  age  of 
twenty-two  to  the  extreme  formalities  with  which 
Spanish  royalty  then  surrounded  itself,  was  not 
easy  to  shake  off.  The  marriage  festivities  of 
Philippe  and  Henriette  were,  therefore,  far  more 
lively  and  spirited  than  were  those  of  the  king  and 
queen.  As  Philippe  was  so  bent  on  the  match, 
though  his  family  was  opposed  to  it,  it  may  be  in- 
ferred that  he  had  some  affection  for  his  sprightly 
cousin.  She,  however,  had  none  for  him,  and 
clouds  soon  arose  to  darken  the  sunny  atmosphere 
in  which,  as  a  pair  of  brilliant  butterflies,  they  then 
flitted  about  and  enjoyed  themselves. 

The  Palais  Royal  had  become  part  of  the  ap- 
panage of  the  young  Due  d'Orleans.  At  its 
theatre,  in  1661,  Moliere  produced  "  L'Ecole  des 
Maris."  The  muse  of  comedy  had  been  much 
neglected,  for  Mazarin  loved  music,  and  had  shown 
greater  favour  to  the  introduction  of  opera.  But 
the  national  taste  seemed  rather  to  incline  to  the 
play.  Fifteen  or  sixteen  years  had  elapsed  since 
the  cardinal,  to  amuse  the  queen-regent  and  her 


MOLIEKE'S  SUCCESS  AS  A    COURTIER      I31 

court,  had  brought  singers  and  machinists  from 
Italy  to  produce  the  "  Finza  Pazza  "  at  the  theatre 
of  the  Petit  Bourbon  ;  yet  music  as  an  art  had 
made  no  progress  in  France.  The  royal  band  of 
twenty-four  violins  still  sufficed  to  play  at  the 
court  balls  and  ballets.  Dancing  continued  to  be 
assiduously  practised,  and  Louis,  for  ten  years 
after  his  marriage,  did  not  think  it  derogatory  to 
seek  flattery  and  applause  by  displaying  his  Terp- 
sichorean  powers  in  public.  But  the  tragedy  of 
"  Britannicus"  being  played  before  him  one  even- 
ing in  1670,  at  St.  Germain,  the  lines  — 

"  Pour  toute  ambition,  pour  vertu  singuli^re, 
II  excelle  a  conduire  un  char  dans  la  carri^re, 
A  disputer  des  prix  indignes  de  ses  mains, 
A  se  donner  lui-meme  en  spectacle  aux  Romains," 

suddenly  struck  him  as  applying  to  himself;  and 
henceforth  in  public  he  figured  no  more  in  the 
ballet. 

Anne  of  Austria,  whose  most  favourite  amuse- 
ment had  once  been  the  play,  from  advancing 
years,  as  well  as  from  the  first  symptoms  of  the 
painful  disease  of  which  she  died  having  appeared, 
was  now  indifferent  to  it.  She  attended  it  merely 
to  please  the  king ;  the  card-table  and  her  oratory 
were  her  chief  distractions.  The  preaching  of 
Bossuet,  who  (if  such  a  word  may  be  used  to 
express  his  grand  oratorical  style)  preached  his 
first   sermon   this   year  before    the    court,  began 


132  OLD   PARIS 

greatly  to  interest  her;  while  the  talent  of 
Moliere,  who  played  the  principal  part  in  his 
own  pieces,  once  more  drew  her  occasionally  to 
the  theatre.  Moliere  assiduously  sought  the  fa- 
vour of  Louis  XIV.,  and  with  so  much  tact  and 
adroitness  that  his  talent,  as  a  courtier,  was 
rewarded  with  success  which  his  great  genius,  as 
a  dramatic  poet,  would  not  alone  have  secured  for 
him. 

Side  by  side  with  the  increasing  favour  and 
popularity  of  Jean  Baptiste  Moliere,  another  great 
genius  was  rising  in  public  estimation,  as  well  as 
in  the  favour  of  the  king.  This  was  Jean  Bap- 
tiste Lulli,  While  serving  as  page  to  la  Grande 
Mademoiselle,  he  amused  himself  in  his  leisure 
hours  with  playing  the  guitar  and  violin.  Made- 
moiselle, perceiving  his  talent,  gave  him  a  mas- 
ter, and  after  a  few  lessons  the  pupil  greatly 
surpassed  his  teacher.  He  continued  diligently 
to  practise  alone,  and  for  some  years  devoted 
himself  to  the  theoretical  study  of  music ;  at 
first  under  Cambert,  the  organist  of  the  collegiate 
church  of  St.  Honore,  who,  in  1659,  composed 
the  music  for  a  pastoral  which  the  Abbe  Perrin 
had  written  in  verse,  and  which  was  sung  at  a 
fete  given  by  M.  de  la  Haye,  at  Issy.  Contrary 
to  the  custom  of  the  time,  no  dances  were  intro- 
duced ;  but  the  music  was  so  much  admired,  and 
the  singing  of  Mdlle.  de  Saint  Hilaire,  who  took  the 
principal  part,  gave  so  much  importance  to  the 


JEAN  BAPTISTE   LULLI  I  33 

little  operetta,  that  Mazarin,  hearing  of  it,  had  it 
played  before  the  king  and  the  court.  Another 
novelty  in  it  was  a  concert  of  flutes,  instruments 
which  had  never  before  been  heard  in  a  theatre. 
Lulli,  who  played  in  it,  had  aided  Cambert  in 
arranging  the  score. 

The  Abbe  Perrin's  musical  pastoral  pleased  the 
court  as  much  as  it  had  pleased  the  company  at 
Issy ;  it  served  also  to  bring  Lulli  prominently 
into  notice,  and  to  give  France  a  great  musician. 
He  was  no  longer  of  the  household  of  Mademoi- 
selle; she  had  some  time  before  dismissed  him,  in 
high  indignation  at  hearing  a  song  of  the  Fronde 
that  greatly  shocked  her,  sung  by  Lulli,  who  had 
set  it  to  music.  Lulli  was  now  twenty-six.  He 
had  been  brought  to  France  when  a  boy  of  thir- 
teen ;  he  had,  therefore,  had  the  advantage  of 
acquiring  the  language  perfectly,  and  of  overcom- 
ing a  difficulty  which  had  been  found  a  stumbling- 
block  to  success  by  two  Italian  composers. 
Without  understanding,  or  taking  into  account, 
the  difference  between  the  spoken  language  and 
musical  declamation,  in  the  lengthening  of  the 
final  syllables,  they  had  endeavoured  to  put  music 
to  French  words. 

Lulli  has  been  called  "  le  ph'e  de  la  vraie  mu- 
siqiie  en  France !'  When  compelled  to  leave  his 
first  patroness,  he  was  recommended  by  Cambert 
and  Barully  to  fill  a  vacancy  in  the  king's  band 
of   twenty-four   violins.      His   superior  skill   as   a 


134  OLD   PARIS 

violinist  was  soon  remarked,  and  the  king  — 
expressly  for  Lulli  to  take  the  lead  —  desired 
him  to  form  a  band  of  twelve  of  the  most  able 
performers  he  could  find,  or  train  to  proficiency, 
to  be  called  "  La  Bande  des  petits  Violons  du 
Roi,"  and  so  ably  were  they  trained  by  their 
leader  that  the  performances  of  the  "  Petits  Vio- 
lons "  soon  greatly  surpassed  that  of  the  grand 
twenty-four.  Lulli's  compositions  were  for  some 
time  found  difficult  to  execute,  so  entirely  was 
musical  art  in  its  infancy.  He  was  the  first 
musician  in  France  who  introduced  basses  and 
fugues.  His  celebrity  both  as  a  composer  and 
performer  was  unequalled  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. He  played  the  violin,  we  are  told,  with 
great  feeling  and  expression,  causing  frequently 
deep  emotion  in  those  who  heard  him, 

Lulli's  genius  and  ability  brought  him  both 
wealth  and  consideration,  and  he  became  a  per- 
son of  importance  at  the  French  court.  He  es- 
tablished the  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  for  which 
the  king  granted  him  letters  patent  in  1671.  He 
appears  to  have  been  a  handsome  man,  of  very 
agreeable  manners.  The  king  created  for  him 
the  post  of  "  Surintendant  de  la  Musique  du 
Roi,"  a  sinecure  at  first,  but  which  Lulli,  in  his 
enthusiasm  for  his  art,  availed  himself  of  to  in- 
troduce a  taste  for  the  cultivation  of  music,  both 
vocal  and  instrumental,  amongst  the  younger 
ladies    of    the    court ;    and    in    this    his    personal 


MUSICAL   ENTERTAINMENTS  I  35 

advantages  aided  him  not  a  little.  He  was  for- 
tunate, too,  in  meeting  with  so  able  a  man  as 
Quinault,  the  poet,  to  furnish  him  with  libretti  for 
his  operas.  They  were  very  different  from  the 
ridiculous  trash  of  modern  libretti,  being  in  them- 
selves poems  that  may  be  read  with  pleasure 
without  the  aid  of  music  to  give  effect  to  them. 
But  the  words  of  the  poet  and  the  strains  of  the 
musician  were  so  happily  combined  that  they  lent 
new  beauty  and  tenderness  to  each  other,  of 
which,  scenes  from  "  Atys,"  "  Armide,"  and  "  Ro- 
land "  have  been  cited  as  examples. 

At  the  theatre  of  "  Le  Jeu  de  Paume,"  Lulli 
gave  a  musical  entertainment  called  "  Les  Fetes  de 
r Amour  et  de  Bacchus."  Between  the  acts  there 
were  appropriate  ballets,  and  several  grandees  of 
the  court  exhibited  in  them  their  skill  in  the  dance. 

Lulli  excelled  especially  in  recitative,  in  which 
he  remained  unrivalled  long  after  his  death.  His 
collaboratcur  shared  with  him  the  merit  of  its 
excellence,  in  supplying  words  worthy  of  being 
musically  declaimed.  Quinault's  success  in  this 
new  kind  of  poetry  excited  the  jealousy  of  the 
poets  of  the  time.  They  affected  to  contemn  it, 
as  beneath  their  great  poetic  powers  ;  and  even 
Boileau  attacked  him  in  his  satires. 

''  II  manquait  a  Boileau,'"  says  Voltaire,  ''d' avoir 
sacrifie  anx  graces ;  il  cJiercJia  en  vaiii  toute  sa  vie  a 
Juimilier  2111  Jiomme  qui  n^tait  conmc  que  par  elles!' 

Quinault's  flowing  stanzas  were  on  every  one's 


136  OLD   PARIS 

lips,  and  his  lyric  poems  survived  the  music  to 
which  they  were  wedded,  and  were  then  supposed 
to  owe  their  reputation. 

During  the  lifetime  of  the  musician  and  the 
poet,  the  king's  highest  marks  of  favour  were 
bestowed  on  Lulli.  Quinault,  who  was  young, 
and,  like  Lulli,  handsome  and  attractive,  had  his 
part  in  them,  but  it  was  a  minor  one,  so  far  as  the 
king  was  concerned.  Both  they  and  Moliere  con- 
tributed to  enliven  and  vary  the  bridal y^/^i-  and  en- 
tertainments, and  Lulli,  in  the  Marquis  de  Rieux 
de  Sourdiac,  met  with  a  musical  patron  who  after- 
wards greatly  aided  him  in  establishing  opera  in 
France.  As  part  of  the  amusements  in  celebra- 
tion of  the  king's  marriage,  the  marquis  had  Cor- 
neille's  "  Toison  d'Or"  performed  at  his  Chateau 
de  Neubourg,  and  with  music  and  scenery. 

But  Corneille,  though  he  lived  upwards  of 
twenty  years  after  these  bridal  festivities  took 
place,  was  falling  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf 
period  of  life.  His  musical  rivals  were  young 
men,  and  Moliere,  who  was  then  about  forty,  had 
already  devoted  his  talents  to  making  propriety 
of  conduct  ridiculous,  in  order  to  excuse  the  vices 
of  the  king.  However,  in  holding  up  to  derisive 
laughter  those  presumptuous  mortals  who  dared 
to  imitate  the  pompous  airs  and  royal  strut  of 
Louis  XIV.,  Moliere  did  but  follow  Quinault,  who, 
in  1663,  also  produced  his  comedy  of  "  La  M^re 
coquette,"    in    which    '^  Ics    margins''    was    first 


THE  MAN  IN   THE   IRON  MASK  I  37 

satirized.  But  le  grand  Corneillc  in  his  time  had 
drawn  tears  from  the  eyes  —  unaccustomed  to 
weeping  —  of  the  Grand  Conde  on  the  first  repre- 
sentation of  "Cinna;"  and  if  he  did  not  acquire 
wealth,  his  reputation  as  a  dramatic  poet  was 
unrivalled,  and  his  name  honoured  throughout 
France.  Racine,  then  but  twenty,  was  first  in- 
spired to  essay  his  pen  in  honour  of  these  fetes, 
and  addressed  a  bridal  ode  to  the  king  and 
queen.  It  was  not  only  graciously  accepted,  but, 
to  his  surprise,  it  appears,  substantially  re- 
warded. This  unlooked  -  for  success  is  said  to 
have  determined  him  to  attempt  dramatic  writing, 
contrary  to  the  advice  of  Corneille,  who  did  not 
recognize  in  the  specimens  submitted  to  him  any 
special  talent  for  the  career  he  proposed  to  adopt. 
It  was  also  in  the  year  1661,  and  when  the 
cardinal  had  been  dead  but  a  few  months,  that 
that  event  —  so  mysterious  that  the  victim  of  it 
remains  still  an  unknown  personage  —  occurred 
in  France,  the  incarceration  in  the  Bastille  of  the 
individual  called  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  No 
state  secret  was  probably  ever  so  long  and  so 
faithfully  kept.  He  lived  in  the  Bastille  forty-two 
years,  lodged  and  attended  as  well  as  it  was  pos- 
sible to  be  in  that  stronghold,  with  which  are 
associated  so  many  gloomy  reminiscences  of  deeds 
of  darkness  and  blood.  The  governor,  and  also 
minister  of  state,  when  they  visited  their  prisoner, 
stood    before    him    uncovered.      His    table    was 


138  OLD   PARIS 

served  abundantly  and  with  the  choicest  fare. 
The  governor  himself  served  the  dishes,  then 
retired.  Whatever  he  expressed  a  wish  for  was 
immediately  provided.  His  dress  was  rich,  indi- 
cating a  person  of  high  rank,  and  his  habits  were 
those  of  one  accustomed  to  the  refinements  and 
elegancies  of  life.  He  wore  the  finest  linen  and 
the  richest  laces;  whether  he  always  wore  his 
mask — which  was  cleverly  contrived,  and  must 
have  taken  some  time  to  prepare — is  not  certain. 
The  doctor  who  attended  him  occasionally  had 
never  seen  his  face,  but  was  prepossessed  in  his 
favour  from  his  pleasing  voice  and  cultivated 
manner  of  expressing  himself.  He  uttered  no 
complaints,  and  entered  into  no  conversation 
beyond  what  the  object  of  his  physician's  visit 
made  needful.  When  he  died  he  was  buried  in 
the  cemetery  of  the  church  of  Saint  Paul,  where 
Rabelais  was  buried  at  the  foot  of  a  great  tree. 

The  last  person  who  possessed  the  secret  of 
who  and  what  this  distinguished  prisoner  was, 
and  the  nature  of  his  crime,  was  the  Minister  de 
Chamillart.  On  his  death-bed  he  was  urged  by  his 
son-in-law,  le  Marechal  de  la  Feuillade,  to  reveal 
the  secret  to  him.  He  however  declined,  "  It  is 
the  state's  secret,"  was  his  reply  to  the  marechal's 
entreaties.  "  He  had  sworn  never  to  reveal  it, 
and  it  must  die  with  him."  And  effectually  dead 
and  buried  the  secret  remains,  and  probably  will 
continue  to  be,  until  the  day  of  doom. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

The  Cardinal-Minister's  Palace.  —  The  Hotels  Mazarin  and 
Nevers.  —  The  Cardinal's  Hoarded  Wealth.  —  Saint  £vre- 
mond.  —  La  Bonne  Regence.  —  Nicolas  Fouquet.  —  Charac- 
ter of  Fouquet.  —  The  Chateau  de  Vaux.  —  The  Sculpture 
and  Paintings.  —  A  Grand  Fete-Champetre.  —  The  Theatre. 
—  The  Banquet.  —  The  Picturesque  Dresses.  —  Fouquet's 
Gallery  of  Portraits.  —  The  King's  Gracious  Adieux.  —  Ar- 
rest of  Fouquet  and  Pelisson. 

,HE  vast  and  sumptuous  edifice,  with  its 
finely-sculptured  faqades  and  spendidly 
decorated  interior,  which  the  cardinal- 
minister  had  prepared  for  his  residence,  occupied, 
together  with  its  outbuildings  and  gardens,  the 
extensive  tract  of  ground  lying  between  the  Rues 
Neuve-des-Petits-Champs,  Vivienne,  De  Richelieu, 
and  Colbert.  The  original  building  was  con- 
structed for  the  wealthy  President,  Tubeuf,  by  the 
architect,  Lemuet.  But  Mazarin  employed  Fran- 
cois Mansard  —  who  had  won  celebrity  in  that 
chef-d' ceiivrc  of  his  art,  le  Chateau  de  Maisons, 
near  St.  Germain,  which  was  wholly  designed  by 
him  —  to  add  to  the  hotel  a  splendid  two-storied 
gallery.  In  the  upper  story  were  hung  the 
five  hundred  pictures  of  the  great  masters,  col- 
lected by  Mazarin  at  enormous  expense.  In  the 
139 


140  OLD   PARIS 

lower  gallery  were  arranged  antique  statues,  busts, 
marble  and  bronze  vases,  and  other  treasures  of 
art  in  great  number.  The  domestic  offices  were 
enlarged,  a  handsome  chapel  was  built,  and  a 
library,  that  occupied  the  sides  of  the  grand  conr 
d' Jionneiw,  whence  access  is  now  obtained  to  the 
various  departments  of  the  Bibliotheque  Nation- 
ale  ;  located  in  the  former  abode  of  the  unworthy 
favourite  and  minister  of  Anne  of  Austria  and 
Louis  XIV. 

The  heirs  of  Mazarin  divided  his  magnificent 
hotel  into  two  separate  dwellings.  That  on  the 
side  of  the  Rue  Vivienne  retained  the  name  of 
L'Hotel  Mazarin,  and  became  the  residence  of  le 
Marechal  de  Meilleraie,  who,  having  nlarried  Hor- 
tense  Mancini,  was  created  Due  de  Mazarin.  The 
other  part  was  called  L'Hotel  de  Nevers,  and  be- 
longed to  the  cardinal's  nephew,  Mancini,  then 
Due  de  Nevers.  Each  hotel  had  a  splendid  suite 
of  salons,  furnished  far  more  luxuriously  than  the 
royal  residences.  The  carpets  and  hangings  were 
the  choicest  productions  of  the  Gobelins,  after  the 
designs  of  Le  Brun,  then  designer  en  chef  of  that 
establishment.  Exquisite  taste  reigned  through- 
out. Cost  had  not  been  studied.  It  was  no  con- 
sideration with  the  cardinal,  while  there  remained 
2i pistole  in  the  public  treasury,  or  any  device  yet  un- 
tried by  which  money  could  be  got  from  the  people. 
His  own  hoards  he  was  unwilling  to  touch.  If  he 
could  add  to  them,  well  and  good,  but  they  must 


THE    CARDINAL'S  HOARDED    WEALTH    I4I 

not  be  diminished.  He  heaped  up  wealth  Hke  a 
miser.  Years  after  his  death,  drawers  and  cabi- 
nets were  found,  containing  Spanish  doubloons, 
gold  counters,  plate  and  medals.  The  Duchess 
Hortense,  for  amusement,  used  to  throw  them  out 
of  a  window  to  the  people. 

The  mourning  of  the  cardinal's  family  was  no 
sooner  ended  than  the  salons  of  the  two  hotels 
were  thrown  open,  twice  in  the  week,  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  bean  monde.  "  La  galanterie  itali- 
enne,'  introduced  at  court  by  Mazarin,  and  which 
in  the  early  days  of  the  regency  was  not  regarded 
with  disfavour  by  Anne  of  Austria,  prevailed  at 
these  reunions.  "  La  galanterie  sentiinentale,''  of 
the  D'Urfe  and  Rambouillet  schools,  had  then 
held  in  check  his  insidious  attempts  to  make 
society  even  more  corrupt  than  it  was  inclined  to 
be.  The  utter  subversion  of  morals  was  his  aim, 
and,  probably,  only  the  intense  hatred  his  burden- 
some taxation  inspired,  towards  him  and  every- 
thing called  Italian,  together  with  the  troubles  of 
the  Fronde,  prevented  the  court  of  France  under 
Anne  of  Austria  and  Mazarin  from  becoming  the 
most  dissolute  one  in  Europe. 

Saint  Evremond,  whose  reputation  was  consid- 
erable as  a  bel  esprit  and  a  writer  of  vers  de  soeie'te, 
had  employed  his  pen  to  cast  ridicule  on  the 
Frondenrs.  Consequently  he  was  high  in  favour 
with  Mazarin,  who  appointed  him  one  of  his  suite 
of  gentlemen  to  accompany  him  to  the  Pyrenees, 


142  OLD   PARIS 

Saint  Evremond  was  a  lover  of  the  Duchess 
Hortense  as  well  as  of  Mdlle.  Ninon,  and  was 
perhaps  a  more  assiduous  frequenter,  at  this  time, 
of  the  new  saloji  Mazarin  than  of  the  salon  of  the 
Rue  des  Tournelles.  The  design  of  bringing  into 
vogue  " /c?  galanterie  italienne''  was  one  congen- 
ial to  his  voluptuous  nature.  He  was  not  a  young 
man  when  the  cardinal  died.  He  was  in  his  forty- 
eighth  year,  but  his  manners  were  seductive,  and 
he  was  not  then  disfigured  by  the  enormous  wen 
that  grew  between  his  eyes,  and  made  him  so 
startlingly  hideous  in  after  years.  He  had  fought, 
in  his  wild  youth,  at  Nordlingen,  and  had  been 
the  guest  of  the  great  Conde,  which  did  not  pre- 
vent him  from  satirizing  the  prince  and  taking  a 
pension  for  such  services  from  the  cardinal.  Of 
the  happy  times  of  the  regency  Saint  Evremond 
sang : 

"  J'ai  vu  le  bon  temps  de  la  bonne  regence, 
Temps  ou  regnait  une  heureuse  abondance ; 
Temps  ou  la  ville  aussi  bien  que  la  cour 
Ne  respiraient  que  les  jeux  et  I'amour. 

La  politique  indulgente 

De  notre  nature  innocente 

Favorisait  tous  les  ddsirs. 

Tout  gout  paroissait  legitime, 
La  douce  erreur  ne  s'appelait  point  crime 
Les  vices  delicats  se  nommaient  plaisirs." 

This  good  time  of  "  la  bonne  libcrtf  Saint  Evre- 
mond was  looking  forward  to  seeing  revived  in  the 


NICOLAS  FOUQUET  1 43 

salons  of  the  Mancini  family.  Most  unexpectedly, 
however,  these  salons  were  closed,  and  before  many 
reunions  of  much  importance  had  taken  place  in 
them.  For  it  was  announced  that  the  brilliant 
Nicolas  Fouquet,  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle,  surin- 
tcndant  dcs  finances  during  the  eight  years  of  Ma- 
zarin's  reign,  and  generally  regarded  as  his  most 
probable  successor  as  first  minister,  had  been  ar- 
rested at  Nantes  by  the  king's  order,  and  with  his 
secretary  Pelisson  conveyed  to  the  Bastille. 

Consternation,  alarm,  regret,  spread  throughout 
society.  Fouquet,  it  was  certain,  would  not  fall 
alone.  Many  persons  would  lose  both  credit  and 
distinction  by  an  inquiry  into  his  affairs.  But, 
putting  all  feelings  of  self-interest  aside,  Fouquet 
was  a  man  so  very  much  liked  that  regret  for  the 
misfortune  that  had  befallen  him  was  general  and 
sincere  ;  except,  indeed,  among  the  officials  of  the 
government  who  were  to  profit  by  his  fall.  They 
pursued  him  with  venomous  hate,  hoping  to  bring 
him  to  the  scaffold.  Yet  it  was  rather  for  the  state 
robberies  of  the  all-powerful  and  despotic  late  min- 
ister than  for  depredations  of  his  own  that  Fouquet 
suffered.  When  Mazarin  received  back  the  gift  of 
his  enormous  wealth,  confirmed  to  him  as  a  present 
from  the  king,  moved  either  by  jealous  fear  that 
another  might  with  equal  impunity  appropriate  the 
public  funds,  or  by  the  self-deceptive  idea  that 
denunciation  of  the  fault  of  a  subordinate  would 
be  atonement  for  his  own  crime,  he  made  a  com- 


144  OLD    PARIS 

mimication  to  the  king  that  excited  his  wrath 
against  Foiiquet,  and  prejudiced  him  in  favour  of 
Colbert,  and  other  enemies  of  the  siaantendant. 

Fouquet  was  a  wealthy  man,  and  had  paid  for 
his  appointment  a  very  large  sum  of  money.  (All 
official  posts  or  employments  were  sold  at  that  time, 
and  many  new  and  useless  ones  were  created  by 
Mazarin  expressly  to  be  sold.)  The  snrintendant 
des  finances  possessed  power  and  influence  ;  but  it 
was  as  a  man  of  culture,  of  refined  and  fascinating 
manners,  and  artistic  and  literary  tastes  that  he 
shone  in  society.  His  personal  appearance  was 
prepossessing,  and  the  thorough  kindliness  of  his 
disposition  won  him  the  esteem  and  affection 
of  many,  who  remained  true  friends  to  him  in 
misfortune.  There  was  a  certain  grandeur  in  his 
character;  for  while  liberal  and  generous  in  the 
extreme,  he  conferred  his  favours  with  so  much 
tact,  so  much  delicacy  and  feeling,  that  he  always 
appeared  to  be  himself  the  person  obliged.  He 
was  a  munificent  patron  of  genius  and  talent, 
whether  literary  or  artistic.  When  tested  by 
trouble  and  great  misfortune,  he  exhibited  extra- 
ordinary patience,  and  much  elevation  of  mind. 
Yet  Fouquet  had  many  failings  and  weaknesses. 
Amongst  them  was  his  worship  of  the  fair  sex, 
and  the  fair  sex  generally  smiled  graciously  upon 
him. 

At  no  time  did  Louis  XIV.  display  more  vindic- 
tiveness,  more  implacable  resentment  than  in  his 


THE    CHATEAU  DE    VAUX  1 45 

rigorous  treatment  of  the  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle, 
whom  he  made  the  scapegoat  of  the  cardinal's 
sins.  He  may,  too,  have  seen  in  him  what  he  in 
fact  was,  a  man  greatly  his  superior  —  brilliant, 
witty,  refined,  and  of  cultivated  mind  —  for  the 
king  was  fully,  and  often  jDainfully,  sensible  of  his 
educational  deficiencies.  Yet  he  had  been  an  apt 
scholar  in  that  art  which  the  cardinal  thought  need- 
ful above  all  others — and  upon  which  Louis  XIII. 
had  piqued  himself  on  being  so  perfect  in  —  dissim- 
ulation. For  he  had  resolved  on  the  downfall  of 
his  surintcndant  when,  with  smiling  graciousness, 
he  accepted  the///f  Fouquet  begged  permission  to 
offer  him  at  the  Chateau  de  Vaux. 

This  Chateau  de  Vaux  was  a  *'  palace  of  de- 
lights." Its  vast  grounds  and  gardens  —  then 
reputed  the  finest  in  Europe  —  had  been  laid  out 
by  the  celebrated  Le  Notre  and  planted  by  La 
Quintinie.  Pierre  Puget  and  Coustou  had  de- 
signed and  executed  the  elaborately  sculptured 
fountains.  The  system  of  waterworks  that  sup- 
plied them  produced  effects  then  unsurpassed, 
though  afterwards  far  excelled  at  Versailles  and 
Marly.  The  site  of  the  chateau  had  been  admira- 
bly chosen,  amidst  the  beautiful  scenery  of  one  of 
nature's  most  picturesque  spots.  The  foundations 
were  laid,  and  some  progress  made  in  the  building, 
when  a  design  combining  greater  convenience  in 
the  interior  arrangements,  with  finer  architectural 
effects  in  the  exterior,  fell  under  the   notice   of 


146  OLD   PARIS 

Fouquet.  Immediately  he  ordered  the  removal 
of  the  portion  already  constructed,  and  the  recom- 
mencement of  the  chateau  on  the  new  plan,  which 
led  to  an  immense  increase  in  the  expense.  Ac- 
cording to  the  present  value  of  money,  the  Chateau 
de  Vaux  cost  not  less  than  a  million  and  a  half 
sterling. 

The  decorations  in  sculpture  and  painting  of 
what  may  be  termed  the  state  apartments  were 
executed  by  the  ablest  artists  of  that  day.  And 
all  had  worked  for  him  con  amove,  as  a  man  of 
taste  who  could  appreciate  their  talents,  as  well 
as  a  princely  patron.  In  the  great  ball-room,  Le 
Brun  —  to  whom  Fouquet  had  given  a  pension  of 
twelve  thousand  francs,  equal  to  about  fifty  thou- 
sand of  the  present  time  —  had  displayed  his  skill 
both  in  designing  and  painting ;  and  there  his 
young  eUve  Jouvenet  —  the  painter  of  the  cupola 
of  the  church  of  Saint  Louis  des  Invalides,  and 
who,  having  met  with  an  accident,  in  his  later 
years  painted  with  his  left  hand  —  learnt  from  his 
master's  labours  the  first  principles  of  his  art. 
In  other  apartments  were  panel-paintings  by 
Pierre  Mignard,  the  favourite  eleve  of  Simon 
Vouet.  Pictures  from  the  easel  of  Santerre  and 
of  Claude  Lorraine,  and  the  already  scarce  and 
much-prized  productions  of  Le  Sueur  —  who  died 
some  five  years  before,  at  the  age  of  thirty-eight 
—  adorned  the  walls  of  his  private  rooms. 

To    receive    the    king    and    queen,   the    queen- 


A    GRA  ND  FE  TE-  CHA  MPE  TKE  1 4  7 

mother,  and  the  court,  the  gardens,  grounds  and 
fountains  were  illuminated.  A  scene  of  enchant- 
ment was  produced,  amidst  which  the  magnificent 
marquis,  with  the  marquise,  and  his  mother,  the 
Countess  de  Vaux,  moved  as  the  fairy  prince  and 
princesses.  What  a  pang  all  this  splendour  occa- 
sioned to  the  self-love  of  Louis  !  It  was  dazzling, 
surprising,  even  to  him ;  for  Fontainebleau,  Com- 
piegne,  St.  Germain,  and  Versailles,  as  it  then 
existed,  were  not  to  be  compared  with  the  Cha- 
teau de  Vaux,  either  for  beauty  of  situation, 
interior  adornment,  or  luxurious  arrangements  for 
personal  comfort.  Fuel  was  added  to  the  smoul- 
dering flame  of  his  resentment  when  the  delighted, 
and,  as  he  believed,  honoured  and  favoured  host 
came  forth  with  ^' cctte  mine  I'iante  et  fixe''  (as 
Madame  de  Sevigne  remarks  in  her  letters  to  M. 
de  Pomponne),  to  receive  his  royal  guests.  At 
Vaux  all  the  ladies  found  in  their  apartments,  as 
in  after  years  was  the  custom  at  Marly,  a  mag- 
nificently arranged  toilette  a  la  dncJiesse,  and  every- 
thing necessary  for  patching  and  painting,  and 
completing  their  coiffures  and  costume  generally, 
according  to  the  taste  and  fashion  of  the  time. 

Moliere  had  written  "  Les  Facheux  "  especially 
for  the  fetes  de  Vaux,  and  it  was  first  represented 
in  the  theatre  of  that  chateau.  The  secretary 
Pelisson  wrote  the  prologue,  which  is  said  to  have 
been  witty  and  clever.  The  famous  Vatel  aided 
in  preparing  the  banquets.     He  was  then  sons-c'u  f 


148  OLD   PARIS 

in  the  kitchen  department.  Had  this  most  sensi- 
tive of  cooks  fallen  on  his  sword  when  the  distin- 
guished patron  in  whose  service  he  had  graduated 
in  the  culinary  art  fell  from  his  place  in  society, 
like  a  bright  meteor  from  the  starry  sky,  he  would 
have  ended  his  career  far  more  sublimely  than  by 
his  suicide  some  years  after,  when  Maitre  d'hotel 
at  Chantilly,  because  of  the  non-arrival  of  fish  to 
place  before  the  royal  guest  of  M.  le  Prince. 

The  king,  looking  very  handsome  and  majestic, 
and  concealing  his  anger  under  an  air  of  pleased 
satisfaction  with  the  wonders  of  Vaux,  was  con- 
ducted through  galleries  and  saloons  to  the  suite 
of  apartments  prepared  for  him.  A  train  of 
courtiers  followed,  wearing  those  blue  and  crim- 
son casaques,  embroidered  in  silver  and  gold, 
which  the  king  himself  had  designed,  and  which 
it  was  a  distinguished  mark  of  royal  favour  to  be 
permitted  to  wear.  The  company  generally  was 
extremely  picturesque  ;  and  the  men,  with  their 
velvets  and  laces,  plumed  hats,  and  diamond-hilted 
swords,  were,  no  doubt,  more  interesting  than 
they  are  in  their  prosaic  costume  of  the  present 
day.  The  little  queen,  perched  up  on  her  high- 
heeled  shoes,  and  apparently  about  to  be  crushed 
under  her  towering  head-dress,  was  the  centre  of 
a  very  brilliant  throng.  Happily,  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria was  able  to  be  present,  and,  by  her  influence 
over  the  king,  restrained  him  from  arresting,  in 
the  midst  of '  the /<?7(?,  the  man  whose  hospitality 


FOUQUETS   GALLERY  OF  PORTRAITS      I49 

he  had  accepted,  and  who  had  exerted  himself  to 
receive  him  with  all  due  honour. 

Fouquet's  crest  was  a  squirrel  ascending  a 
tree,  and  the  motto,  "Quo  non  ascendam?" 
Louis,  who  was  supposed  to  have  translated  the 
"Commentaries,"  did  not  understand  this.  At 
his  request,  it  was  explained  to  him,  "  Oii  ne  mon- 
terai-je  poiritf  As  it  was  rather  ostentatiously- 
displayed  frequently  to  meet  the  eye,  the  king 
chose  to  see  in  it  a  revelation  of  ambitious  views. 
Everywhere,  too,  an  asp  was  painted  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree,  and  was  supposed  to  be  an  allusion  to 
Fouquet's  inveterate  enemy,  Colbert,  whose  crest 
was  an  asp.  This,  together  with  the  fact  that  he 
was  fortifying  Belle  Isle,  also  that  he  was  Pro- 
cureur-General  du  Parlement,  and  had  everywhere 
numerous  partizans,  made  the  king  anxious  that 
there  should  be  no  delay  in  securing  his  person 
and  taking  possession  of  his  papers. 

Some  two  or  three  writers  of  the  time  mention 
that  the  king  was  further  irritated  by  seeing  the 
portrait  of  Mdlle.  de  La  Valliere  amongst  a  num- 
ber of  others,  forming  a  gallery  of  belles  dames 
who  were  the  objects  of  Fouquet's  admiration. 
The  portrait  of  Madame  Scarron  was  said  to  have 
been  also  a  prominent  one.  But  it  is  more  likely 
that  he  possessed  neither  of  these  portraits ;  for 
Mdlle.  de  La  Valliere  could  have  but  very  re- 
cently arrived  from  Blois,  to  be  one  of  the  Jilles 
d'honnciir  of   Madame,  with   whom  the  king  was 


150  OLD   PARIS 

then  on  terms  of  such  very  intimate  friendship, 
that  Monsieur  complained  of  it  to  the  queen- 
mother.  He  thought  there  was  too  much  senti- 
mentality in  it,  considering  their  relationship  both 
to  him  and  to  each  other.  And  if  Monsieur's 
idea  of  propriety  was  shocked,  there  must  have 
been  some  reason  for  complaint. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen,  Louis  had  refused  to 
dance  with  Henriette,  who  was  then  but  eleven, 
because  he  "did  not  like  little  girls."  When  his 
brother  was  so  anxious  to  marry  her,  the  extreme 
slightness  of  her  figure  led  the  king  contemptu- 
ously to  remark,  "  Qu' elle  n  etait  que  dcs  os ;  "  for 
without  embonpoint —  in  compliment  to  Anne  of 
Austria,  probably,  who  had  enough  and  to  spare 
of  it  —  pretensions  to  beauty  were  grudgingly 
allowed.  But  when  Henriette  was  raised  to  the 
dignity  of  "  Madame,"  and  freed  from  the  re- 
straint in  which  both  her  mother  and  the  queen, 
her  aunt,  had  strictly  held  her,  Louis  was  fas- 
cinated by  her  youthful  vivacity,  her  pleasant 
temper,  and  constant  flow  of  spirits.  Madame 
took  the  lead  in  the  amusements  of  the  court ; 
the  timid  little  queen  was  thrown  quite  into  the 
shade,  and,  both  in  Paris  and  at  Fontainebleau, 
the  frivolous  pastimes  in  which  these  royal  per- 
sonages passed  the  greater  part  of  the  day  were 
arranged  in  accordance  with  the  capricious  tastes 
of  Henriette.  The  king  was  always  at  her  side, 
whether  bathing,  dressing,  or  dining. 


MOONLIGHT  REVELS  I5I 

Dinner  ended,  they  set  off  in  the  same  carriage, 
the  numerous  company  of  la4ies  and  courtiers 
following  —  all  in  full  feather,  and  accompanied 
by  a  carriageful  of  fiddlers  —  to  seek  some  suit- 
able spot  where  they  could  trip  it  gaily  on  the 
greensward.  There,  well  into  the  night,  or  rather 
early  morning,  they  danced  and  flirted,  lighted, 
in  the  absence  of  chaste  Cynthia's  silvery  beams, 
by  the  lurid  rays  of  many  torches.  Weary  of 
dancing,  they  mounted  their  horses,  for  though 
they  went  in  carriages,  they  returned  as  a  pranc- 
ing cavalcade,  enlivening  their  night-ride  home 
through  the  sombre  woods  with  laughter  and 
snatches  of  song.  An  hilarious  supper  followed; 
then,  wearied  nature  sought  in  sleep  to  recruit  its 
powers  for  another  well-spent  day.  Monsieur  by 
no  means  objected  to  this  kind  of  life,  and  there 
were  many  fair  ladies  in  the  company  whose 
society  he  preferred  to  that  of  Madame.  But  he 
objected  to  Louis'  finding  pleasure  in  it.  The 
queen-mother  was  also  much  annoyed,  because  he 
no  longer  spent  his  spare  time  with  her  and  her 
ladies. 

Madame's  spiritual  director  was  desired  to  re- 
prove her  for  her  heedlessness,  and  the  queen- 
mother  remonstrated  with  her  son.  The  king, 
to  silence  the  gossip  of  the  court,  affected  to 
make  love  to  two  of  Anne  of  Austria's  filles 
d'Jwnneur,  Mdlles.  de  Pons,  and  De  Ch^merault, 
and,  at    the  same  time,  to  one   of    les  filles  de 


152  OLD   PARIS 

Madame,  Mdlle.  de  La  Valliere.  The  Comte  de 
Guiche,  said  to  have  been  a  lover  of  La  Valliere, 
withdrew  in  favour  of  the  king,  and  made  love  to 
Madame  herself.  This  new  arrangement  did  not 
satisfy  Monsieur.  He  and  De  Guiche  had  some 
very  warm  words  on  the  subject,  and  spoke  their 
minds  freely  to  each  other.  The  Marechal  de 
Grammont,  De  Guiche's  father,  was  requested  to 
interfere.  A  finished  courtier,  he  was  astonished 
at  his  son's  audacity,  and  at  once  despatched  him 
to  Paris,  forbidding  him  to  return  to  Fontaine- 
bleau.  Monsieur  also  objected  to  the  king's 
attentions  to  his  wife's  maid  of  honour,  and 
dissatisfaction  was  general.  La  Valliere,  says 
Madame  de  La  Fayette,  was  ''Douce  et  naive,  et 
avait  pen  de  foiiiDie ;  "  and  another  writer  adds, 
''Fade,  boiteiise,  et  marqiiee  de  la  petite  verole.'' 
She  was  unused  to  court  life,  and,  flattered  by 
the  attentions  of  the  king,  fell  deeply  in  love  with 
him.  He  was  not  then  in  love  with  her ;  but  the 
affair  of  the  king  and  Madame  followed  too  close 
upon  her  marriage  with  Monsieur  to  allow  of  any 
credit  being  given  to  the  story  that  Fouquet  had 
been  La  Valliere's  lover,  and  had  already  a  por- 
trait of  her  hanging  in  his  cabinet. 

Fouquet,  at  the  time  of  the  Fronde,  took  the 
royalist  side.  He  was  a  partizan  of  Mazarin,  and 
aided  in  smoothing  the  way  for  his  return  to 
France.  Scarron  was  odious  to  him,  and  his 
Widow    applied    to    him    in    vain    for    a    pension. 


Xouiee  OLa  IDalUcre 


DIVERSITY  OF  OPINION  I  53 

It  was  at  the  instance  of  the  Chevalier  de  Meri 
that  the  queen-mother  continued  to  her  the  pen- 
sion of  2,000  fr.  she  had  granted  to  Scarron. 
It  again  passed  away  from  her  on  the  queen's 
death,  and  was  renewed  only  after  the  lapse  of 
some  years,  at  Madame  de  Montespan's  solicita- 
tion. It  was,  therefore,  as  unlikely  that  Fouquet 
possessed  the  portrait  of  Madame  Scarron  as  that 
of  Mdlle.  de  La  Valliere.  The  memoirs  of  the 
time,  that  refer  to  these  affairs  of  gallantry,  as 
they  are  termed,  cannot  be  wholly  relied  upon. 
Malevolence,  bitterness  of  spirit,  wounded  vanity, 
guided  the  pens  of  many  writers;  gross  flattery, 
adulation,  and  a  desire  to  appear  to  have  been  at 
the  bottom  of  every  secret,  characterize  others. 
One,  sees  nothing  but  vice  and  deformity;  an- 
other, nothing  but  virtue  and  beauty,  and  in  the 
self-same  person.  This,  however,  is  certain  — 
society  of  every  grade  was  thoroughly  corrupt; 
rotten  at  the  core. 

Red-heeled  boots,  slashed  doublets,  and  flowing 
wigs,  cordelieres  of  pearls,  Moorish  fans,  masks, 
patches,  and  paint  ;  monumental  head-dresses,  and 
the  thousand  other  items  indispensable  to  the  toi- 
lets of  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  Louis 
XIV.  period,  have  a  charmingly  picturesque  effect 
seen  through  the  long  vista  of  two  centuries  or 
more,  and  heightened  by  the  glamour  of  la  gmnde 
politesse,  et  la  grandc  galanterie,  of  the  Grand 
Monarque  and  his  court.    Life  seems  to  have  been 


154  OLD   PARIS 

with  them  one  long  fancy-dress  ball,  a  never-end- 
ing carnival,  a  perpetual  whirl,  an  endless  succes- 
sion of  fetes  and  carrousels  —  a  period  exhibiting, 
in  its  various  phases,  much  animation  and  dramatic 
effect  overlaying  frivolity  and  vice. 

To  re-enter  for  a  moment  the  Chateau  de  Vaux  : 
the  fetes  being  ended,  the  king  took  leave  of  his 
magnificent  host  —  a  smiling,  gracious  leave  —  "  il 
hii  fit  des  caresses,  et  hii  traita  avec  distmction," 
but  there  was  rancour  in  his  heart.  To  attempt 
to  arrest  Fouquet  on  his  own  domain  was  deemed 
hazardous.  His  rescue  and  escape  from  the  coun- 
try were  thought  probable,  and  his  enemies 
sought  his  life.  On  some  pretence  he  was  called 
to  Nantes,  and  there,  he  and  Pelisson  were  ar- 
rested. From  Nantes  they  were  conveyed  to 
Paris,  and  imprisoned  in  the  Bastille  for  three 
years,  while  their  papers  were  being  examined, 
and  evidence,  true  or  false,  against  Fouquet  was 
being  hunted  up,  preparatory  to  a  mock  trial. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Mazarin's  Improvements  in  the  Old  City.  —  The  Paul  Cliffords 
of  Paris.  —  The  King  Returns  to  the  Louvre.  —  The  Grande 
Fa9ade.  —  Perrault,  Mansard,  and  Bernini.  —  La  Chateau  de 
Maisons.  —  Bernini  returns  to  Rome.  —  The  Louvre  and  its 
Doctor.  —  The  Louvre  Abandoned.  —  "  Un  Favori  sans 
Merite." —  Improvements  in  Paris.  —  L'Academie  des  Belles- 
Lettres.  —  Learned  Societies  Founded.  —  Louis,  under  Col- 
bert and  Lyonne. 

;HAT  was  done,"  one  may  inquire,  "for 
the  improvement  of  Paris  during  the 
eight  years'  reign  of  Mazarin  ?"  "  Very 
little  indeed,"  must  be  the  reply.  The  works  at 
the  Louvre  were  almost  entirely  suspended.  The 
smouldering  political  agitation  that  survived  the 
Fronde  made  the  work  of  crushing  out  the  spirit 
of  the  people  seem  a  more  desirable  undertaking 
than  that  of  improving  or  embellishing  the  capi- 
tal. Some  few  of  the  narrowest  of  its  narrow 
streets  had  been  widened,  with  the  view  of  ren- 
dering the  formation  of  barricades  less  easy,  in 
the  event  of  renewed  revolt,  and  of  affording 
space,  in  case  of  necessity,  for  bringing  through 
them  the  small  pieces  of  cannon  then  in  use.  For 
lighting  and  cleansing  the  city,  or  for  establishing 
an  efficient  police,  nothing  had  been  done.     A  few 


156  OLD   PARIS 

fine  hotels  had  been  built  by  the  noblesse ;  but, 
enclosed  in  large  gardens,  and  separated  from 
their  dirty  surroundings  by  walls,  high  and  thick, 
they  only  still  further  impeded  the  circulation  of 
air,  and  deepened  the  gloom  of  those  gloomy  back 
streets  —  the  lurking-places  of  plague  and  small- 
pox. 

For  the  lower  ranks  of  the  social  scale,  this 
boasted  old  Paris,  this  city  of  walled  palaces  and 
monastic  abodes  of  a  wealthy  priesthood,  this 
"diamond  and  carbuncle  of  European  capitals," 
was  still  a  terrible  place.  Even  the  high  and 
mighty  were,  sometimes,  made  to  feel  the  desir- 
ableness of  adopting  more  stringent  measures  for 
the  security  of  the  property  and  lives  of  the  inhab- 
itants. In  1660,  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery,  writ- 
ing to  Godeau,  says  :  "  During  the  last  six  weeks 
there  have  been  many  most  audacious  robberies 
in  the  streets  of  Paris.  More  than  forty  carriages, 
of  persons  of  quality,  have  been  stopped  and 
plundered  by  the  robbers,  who  are  always  on 
horseback,  and  in  parties  from  fifteen  to  twenty." 
This  exceeds  the  audacity  of  the  bold  highwaymen 
of  the  glorious  days  of  Louis's  rival  —  our  own 
Charles  II.,  of  blessed  memory.  They  had  the 
grace  to  keep  out  of  the  streets  of  "London 
town,"  and  to  confine  their  operations  to  districts, 
not  approaching  nearer  to  it  than  Kensington, 
Knightsbridge,  or,  at  the  boldest  venture,  Hyde 
Park. 


THE  KING  RETURNS   TO   THE    LOUVRE     I  5/ 

A  few  years  later,  she  writes  on  the  same  sub- 
ject, with  little  variation  of  details,  but  complain- 
ing also  of  the  losses  she  herself  sustains  from  the 
frequent  visits  of  daring  thieves  to  her  dwelling ; 
and,  further,  that  these  depredations,  together  with 
the  non-payment  of  pensions  she  is  supposed  to  be 
in  receipt  of,  have  reduced  her  to  very  great 
straits.* 

When  Mazarin  died,  Louis  forsook  the  Palais 
Royal,  which  became  the  property  of  the  Orleans 
family,  and  established  himself  at  the  Louvre.  In 
1 66 1  a  fire  occurred  there,  in  the  grand  gallery, 
and  the  necessity  for  immediately  repairing  it 
caused  the  works  generally  to  be  resumed  with 
greater  diligence.  The  superintendence  of  them 
was  offered  to  Mansard,  who  declined  it,  except  on 
conditions  relating  to  the  designing  of  the  new 
portions  of  the  edifice,  that  were  thought  likely  to 
entail  too  heavy  an  expenditure.  Louis  was  at 
that  time  engaged  in  settling  the  new  financial 
arrangements  with  Colbert,  who  was  then  under 
the  delusion  that  economy,  thenceforth,  was  to  be 
the  order  of  the  day. 

Some  portion  of  the  north  wing  of  the  Louvre, 
and  of  the  facade  looking  towards  the  Seine,  had 

*The  payment  of  pensions  granted  in  those  days  was  very 
problematical,  at  least  as  to  time.  Often  they  ran  into  long  ar- 
rears, causing  considerable  inconvenience  to  needy  literary  men, 
and  other  recipients  of  the  state's  bomity ;  but  in  amount  they 
were  usually  liberal. 


158  OLD   PARIS 

been  erected  by  the  architects,  Levau  and  Dorbay, 
from  the  designs  of  Claude  Perrault.  To  complete 
the  exterior,  the  fourth  faqade  —  facing  the  east 
and  enclosing  the  court  — had  yet  to  be  con- 
structed, and  the  king  desired,  as  it  formed  the 
grand  entrance  to  the  palace,  that  it  should  ex- 
ceed the  others  in  magnificence.  This,  with  the 
new  buildings  at  St.  Germain,  was  the  work  of- 
fered to  and  declined  by  Mansard.  Other  archi- 
tects most  in  repute  were  then  requested  to  send 
in  designs,  but  none  was  considered  quite  satis- 
factory. In  this  dilemma  it  was  determined  to 
seek  the  aid  of  Bernini,  reputed  the  first  archi- 
tect in  Europe.  The  pope,  Alexander  VII.,  was 
scarcely  willing  to  allow  this  great  artiste  to  cross 
the  Alps  ;  but,  after  considerable  diplomacy  on 
the  part  of  Louis,  permission  was  given.  Car- 
riages were  sent  on  to  bring  him  to  Paris,  and,  gen- 
erally, the  arrangements  made  for  his  journey  were 
as  if  intended  for  a  sovereign  prince.  He  was 
conducted,  on  his  arrival,  to  the  Louvre  and  to  the 
apartments  prepared  for  his  reception  with  almost 
as  much  ceremony  and  distinction  as  the  pontiff 
himself  could  have  looked  for  had  he  honoured 
France  with  a  visit. 

Bernini  was,  however,  less  anxious  to  receive 
compliments  and  ceremonious  visits  than  to  see 
what  Paris  had  to  show  in  the  way  of  architectural 
cJiefs-d'oeuvrc.  As  France  had  sent  so  far  for 
an  architect,  his  expectations  were  not  excessive. 


PERRAULT,    MANSARD,    AND   BERNINI     1 59 

Great,  then,  was  his  astonishment  when  he  saw 
what  had  already  been  accomplished  after  the  de- 
signs of  Perrault,  and  greater  still  when  he  was 
shown  those,  which  Perrault  had  laid  before  the 
king,  for  the  grand  faqade  which  he  had  been 
brought  from  Italy  to  design  and  construct.  The 
Chateau  de  Maisons,  which  Bernini  inspected,  re- 
vealed also  that  France  had  in  Francois  Mansard 
another  great  master  of  his  art  ;  and  many  others, 
of  almost  equal  note,  were  afterwards  made  known 
to  him  in  their  works,  when  he  visited  in  Paris  the 
fine  hotels  of  their  construction.*  Christopher 
Wren  —  not  yet  Sir  Christopher  —  was  in  Paris  at 
that  time,  and  mentions,  in  one  of  his  letters, 
having  seen  "  Old  Bernini,  who  allowed  him  just  a 
glimpse  of  the  design  he  had  prepared  for  the 
Louvre." 

But,  like  many  other  Italian  artists,  Bernini 
thought  the  climate  of  France  detestable.  The 
romantic  philosopher,  Descartes,  had  left  Paris  be- 
cause he  fancied  its  atmosphere  too  light  and 
stimulating,  producing  too  much  play  of  the  imagi- 

*The  Marquis  de  Maisons,  when  he  employed  Mansard  to 
build  him  his  chateau  near  St.  Germain,  left  him  wholly  un- 
fettered in  planning  and  designing  it.  Mansard,  following  entirely 
his  own  judgment  and  fancy,  produced  a  chef-d^ceuvre — the  fin- 
est of  his  works.  It  was  expeditiously  completed,  and  for  the 
moderate  cost  of  40,000  gold  pieces  of  the  coinage  of  Charles 
IX.  that  had  been  found  in  a  cellar  when  making  excavations 
for  the  enlarging  of  the  marquis's  hotel  in  the  Rue  des  Prou- 
vaires,  Paris. 


l6o  OLD   PARIS 

nation.  The  Italians,  on  the  contrary,  felt  that  it 
put  the  imagination  into  fetters,  allowed  of  no 
flights  of  fancy,  generated  no  brilliant  ideas  ;  so 
that  from  the  time  of  Francis  I.  to  that  of  Louis 
XIV.  they  were  all  in  haste  to  fly  from  the  stifled, 
walled-up  city,  and  its  pent-up,  pestiferous  air. 
Cabals  and  intrigues  also  met  Bernini  at  every 
turn  ;  yet  the  king,  in  October,  1665,  laid  the  first 
stone  of  the  grand  entrance,  intended  to  have  been 
constructed  after  Bernini's  design.  The  work, 
however,  was  not  proceeded  with.  Delays  and 
difficulties  arose,  or  were  purposely  made,  to  pre- 
vent further  progress,  and  Bernini,  after  eight 
months'  residence  in  Paris,  wearied  with  being  con- 
tinually thwarted  and  opposed,  threw  up  his  com- 
mission in  disgust,  and  returned  to  Rome. 

He  was  paid  from  the  time  of  his  arrival  to  that 
of  his  departure  at  the  rate  of  five  louis  d'or  per 
day  ;  and  although  his  visit  had  been  utterly  sterile 
in  results,  the  king,  besides  making  him  a  present 
of  fifty  thousand  crowns,  conferred  on  him  a  pen- 
sion of  two  thousand,  and  another  for  his  son  of 
five  hundred  crowns.  The  great  Roman  architect 
had  not  been  nearly  so  well  rewarded  for  construct- 
ing the  grand  colonnade  surrounding  the  court  of 
Saint  Peter's  at  Rome.*  If  he  thought  but  poorly 
of  Paris,  he  thought  highly  of  the  munificence  of 

*Sir  Christopher  Wren  was  paid  for  building  Saint  Paul's  and 
superintending  and  designing  generally  after  the  great  fire  of 
London,  ;^200  a  year,  which  included  all  expenses  for  plans,  etc. 


THE    LOUVRE   AND   ITS  DOCTOR  l6l 

the  king.  The  great  honours  with  which  he  was 
received  were  renewed  on  his  departure,  and  in 
acknowledgment  of  them  and  the  monarch's  liber- 
ality, Bernini  sent,  as  a  present,  an  equestrian 
statue  of  Louis  XIV.,  executed  at  Rome,  for  the 
gardens  of  Versailles.  His  designs  for  \\iQ  facade 
were  laid  aside,  and  the  grand  ones  of  Perrault 
received  the  approbation  of  the  king.  The  Louvre 
was  therefore  "again,"  as  the  wits  of  the  day  said, 
"put  into  the  hands  of  the  doctor." 

Claude  Perrault,  like  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  had 
not  been  regularly  trained  for  an  architect.  His 
natural  bent,  as  well  as  his  great  ability  as  a 
draughtsman,  led  him  to  architectural  studies. 
He  was  of  the  medical  profession,  but  no  longer 
practised  as  a  physician  except  in  the  case  of  a 
few  private  friends,  whose  faith  in  his  skill  to  repair 
the  dilapidations  of  the  human  frame  was  as  great 
as  their  belief  that  he  surpassed  all  others  in  archi- 
tectural knowledge.  In  1670  he  finished  his  splen- 
did work,  so  far  as  crowning  the  grand  entrance 
with  the  famous  cornices,  each  of  a  single  stone 
fifty-two  feet  in  length.  They  were  taken  from 
the  quarries  of  Meudon,  and  were  transported  to 
the  Louvre  by  means  of  carriages,  or  machines, 
invented  by  Perrault  —  the  want  of  such  facilities 
for  bringing  up  the  materials  required  having  added 
considerably  to  the  difficulty  of  a  speedy  completion 
of  the  work. 

Perrault  was  not  only  poorly  remunerated  for 


1 62  OLD   PARIS 

his  labour  —  except  that  to  him  it  was  a  labour  of 
love  —  but  he  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  the 
king's  interest  in  its  progress  and  completion  grad- 
ually decline.  From  1670  the  sum  annually  set 
apart  for  fully  carrying  out  the  designs  and  projects 
of  Perrault  became  less  every  year,  until,  in  1680, 
it  ceased  altogether.  The  architect's  plans,  become 
useless,  were  then  deposited  in  the  private  library 
of  the  Cabinet  du  roi,  and  the  Louvre  —  once  des- 
tined to  represent  in  its  vast  extent,  its  grand  ar- 
chitecture, magnificent  interior  decorations,  and 
dazzling  costliness  of  furniture,  the  power,  the 
greatness,  and  the  exalted  state  of  the  King  of 
France — was  abandoned  to  the  rats  and  bats,  and 
in  a  few  years  fell  into  a  miserable  condition  of 
ruin.  Any  portion  that  then  remained  habitable 
was  divided  into  small  apartments,  and  given  to 
poor  artists,  poets,  or  other  needy  persons  for 
whom  it  pleased  the  ministers  to  provide  a  shel- 
ter. Mean  stalls  were  built  against  the  outside 
walls,  and  wretched  little  hovels  set  up  in  the 
grand  coitr.  In  this  deplorable  state  the  magnifi- 
cent palace  of  the  Louvre,  on  which  so  much 
labour,  skill,  and  money  had  been  lavished,  re- 
mained till  Louis  XV.,  to  save  it  from  the  irre- 
mediable decay  it  was  fast  falling  into,  ordered  it 
to  be  repaired  and  restored  where  most  urgently 
needed.  Something  further  was  done  under  Louis 
XVI.  ;  but  Napoleon  I.,  in  1803,  commissioned  the 
architects  MM.  Perrier  and  Fontaine  to  put  the 


''UN  FAVOR  I  SANS  ME  KITE"  1 63 

edifice  into  thorough  repair,  to  restore  the  sculpt- 
ures, and  to  finish  some  of  the  uncompleted  de- 
signs of  Perrault  —  a  work  which  occupied  them 
uninterruptedly  for  the  space  of  nine  years. 

Louis,  who  transferred  his  favour  from  chateau 
to  chateau  as  he  did  from  mistress  to  mistress,  for- 
sook the  Louvre  for  that  "favori  sans  me'r'ite,'" 
Versailles.  In  1666,  the  works  under  Perrault 
being  in  full  operation,  the  king  went  to  St. 
Germain,  pending,  as  was  supposed,  the  building 
of  the  fourth  faqade  and  the  completion  of  the 
alterations  and  additions  at  Versailles,  which  were 
carried  on  simultaneously  with  the  works  at  Paris. 
But  Louis  disliked  both  his  capital  and  the  muti- 
nous Parisians.  As  a  resident,  he  returned  to 
them  no  more,  and  his  temporary  visits  were  few 
and  far  between. 

Saint  Simon  (who  is  often  very  unjust)  has 
said,  and  many  have  repeated  it  after  him,  that 
Louis  XIV.  "did  nothing  for  Paris,  either  orna- 
mental or  useful,  except  building  the  Pont  Royal, 
and  that  only  from  necessity."  But  within  five 
years  after  the  death  of  Mazarin  he  did  that  which 
contributed  towards  the  convenience  of  the  Pari- 
sians and  the  healthfulness  and  embellishment  of 
Paris  more  than  all  that  his  predecessors  had  done 
since  it  had  been  a  fortified  city  —  "he  threw  down 
the  walls  thereof."  (He  did  so  little  worth  notice, 
that  it  is  not  right  to  deny  him  the  merit  of  that 
little.)     Those  walls,  something  more  than  thirty 


164  OLD   PARIS 

years  before,  his  father  had  rebuilt  and  added  to, 
on  enclosing  a  tract  of  ground  north  of  the  Seine. 
With  their  removal  light  and  air  were  admitted,  a 
pleasant  promenade  of  boulevards,  planted  with 
trees,  surrounded  the  city  in  the  place  of  its  gloomy 
old  walls,  moats,  towers,  and  bastions.  The  city 
gates  were  rebuilt  in  the  form  of  triumphal  arches. 

The  Hotel  des  Invalides  is  also  due  to  Louis 
XIV.  Its  foundations  were  already  laid  in  1663  ; 
and  the  building  was  finished  in  1675.  Jules 
Hardouin  Mansard,  the  nephew  of  Frangois,  was 
the  architect  of  the  beautiful  chapel  of  that  noble 
institution,  as  he  was  of  that  of  Versailles  and 
other  works  connected  with  the  palace.  The 
Royal  Observatory  was  also  erected  by  the  king's 
order,  and,  besides  these  material  improvements 
in  the  city,  several  learned  and  scientific  societies 
were  founded. 

Some  members  of  the  Academic  Frangaise 
united,  in  1663,  to  form  a  second  academy;  after- 
wards established  by  letters  patent  as  the  Acade- 
mic des  Belles  -  Lettres.  The  object  of  its 
founders  was  to  hand  down  to  posterity,  by 
means  of  medals,  commemorative  of  great  events, 
and  ranged  in  chronological  order,  a  knowledge 
of  the  chief  incidents  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV., 
and  especially  those  in  which  the  king,  personally, 
was  concerned,  or  the  glory  of  them  attributed  to 
him.  As  the  members  of  the  society  increased  in 
number,  they  occupied    themselves  less  in  glori- 


LEARNED  SOCIETIES  FOUNDED  1 65 

fying  the  actions  of  the  king  than  with  critical 
research  into  history,  in  order  to  test  the  truth 
of  much  that  had  been  transmitted  from  remote 
periods  as  historical  fact,  but  which,  when  the 
grounds  it  rested  upon  were  examined  into, 
proved  to  be  but  mere  fable.  For  recording  the 
discoveries,  experiments,  inventions,  and  criticisms 
of  this  and  other  learned  bodies,  the  Jojwnal  dcs 
Savaiits  —  the  first  publication  of  the  kind  —  was 
established  in  1665. 

In  the  following  year,  Colbert's  suggestion, 
supported  by  several  learned  mathematicians,  that 
it  was  advisable  to  found  in  Paris  an  Academie 
des  Sciences,  was  approved  by  the  king.  The 
idea  was  derived  from  the  meetings  of  those 
scientific  men  who  became  the  first  members  of 
the  Royal  Society  of  London.  Some  of  its 
academicians  were  despatched  by  the  king  to 
Cayenne  and  other  parts  of  the  world  to  make 
astronomical  observations,  which  led  to  the  dis- 
covery, afterwards  confirmed  by  Newton,  of  the 
flattened  conformation  of  the  earth  at  the  poles. 
Several  other  societies,  or  academies,  were 
founded  in  the  early  years  of  Louis's  reign,  after 
Mazarin's  death  —  such  as  the  schools  of  archi- 
tecture and  sculpture ;  the  Royal  Academy  of 
Music  ;  that  of  painting,  with  its  branch  academy 
at  Rome  —  where,  at  the  king's  expense,  young 
students,  who  had  obtained  prizes  for  the  merit 
of  their  productions  at  the  academy  in  Paris,  were 


1 66  OLD   PARIS 

lodged  and  supported  while  studying  the  works 
of  the  great  Italian  masters.  If  the  king  did  not 
originate  these  societies  —  though  it  is  probable 
that  he  was  made  to  believe  that  he  did  —  at  least 
he  approved  and  established  them  by  his  grant  of 
royal  letters  patent. 

For  some  time  after  the  reins  of  government 
were  delivered  into  the  hands  of  Louis  XIV.,  he 
followed,  under  the  guidance  of  Colbert  and 
Lyonne  —  notwithstanding  his  resolve  to  be 
guided  by  no  minister  —  the  prevailing  tone  of 
the  age,  he  did  not  lead  it ;  and  France,  though 
then  resigned  to  the  yoke  of  despotism,  was  yet 
disposed  for  progress.  If,  therefore,  at  this  time 
progress  was  made,  and  the  arts  and  sciences, 
hitherto  much  neglected,  began  to  flourish,  the 
impulse  came  from  the  intelligence  of  the  nation, 
not  from  its  king.  The  arts,  les  belles-lettres, 
taste,  manners,  religion,  received  not  their  impress 
from  him  until  a  later  date  ;  but  his  influence  on 
them  was  then  supreme. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Madame  de  Sevigne's  Letters  to  M.  de  Pomponne.  —  Fouquet's 
Casket  of  Billets-doux.  —  The  Letters  from  Sevigne.  —  Her 
Appeal  to  her  Friends.  —  Devotion  in  Friendship.  —  Maza- 
rin's  Peculations. —  Colbert's  Hatred  of  Fouquet.  —  Sevigne's 
Deep  Emotion.  —  Pelisson's  Pleadings.  —  Eloquence  and 
Pathos.  —  Fouquet's  Sentence.  —  Perpetual  Imprisonment. 
—  The  Fortress  of  Pignerol.  —  The  North  and  the  South. — 
Woman's  Privilege. 

'MONGST  the  numerous  letters  written 
by,  or  attributed  to  Madame  de  Se- 
vigne, none  possess  greater  interest 
than  those  of  November  and  December,  1664, 
addressed  to  M.  de  Pomponne,  during  the  trial  of 
Nicolas  Fouquet,  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle.  Colbert, 
who  sought  with  the  avidity  of  jealous  hate  for 
proof,  or  anything  that  could  be  construed  into 
proof,  however  small,  if  it  would  help  to  substantiate 
the  charge  of  embezzling  the  finances  of  the  state, 
and  bring  the  accused  to  the  scaffold,  had  caused 
not  only  the  papers  at  Vaux  and  at  his  house  at 
Saint  Mande  to  be  seized,  but  also  those  of  several 
of  his  intimate  friends.  A  casket  confided  to  the 
care  of  Madame  du  Plessis-Belliere  fell  into  his 
hands.  The  Chancellor,  Le  Tellier,  and  the  king 
examined  it  together ;  but  found,  instead  of  the 

167 


1 68  OLD   PARIS 

documents  they  were  in  search  of,  a  number  of 
letters  from  the  marquis's  wide  circle  of  fair  cor- 
respondents. So  tenderly  had  some  of  these 
ladies  expressed  themselves,  that  the  virtuous 
indignation  of  the  king,  naturally,  was  roused 
by  it.  It  seemed  to  him  a  further  infringement 
of  his  sovereign  rights  ;  for  many  of  the  brightest 
belles  of  his  court  had  contributed  to  Fouquet's 
collection  of  billets-doux.  And  apparently  they 
were  more  solicitous  to  obtain  his  favour  than  he 
to  win  their  smiles  ;  which  may  have  been  owing 
to  the  lavish  profusion  with  which  the  magnificent 
surintendant  was  accustomed  to  make  presents  of 
pearls  and  diamonds,  and,  at  times,  to  lend  money 
to  les  grandes  dames  who  had  got  into  difificulties 
by  playing  at  Jioca — the  fashionable  game,  at 
which  many  of  the  nobility  lost  their  estates  and 
often  entirely  ruined  themselves. 

To  rouse  the  indignation  of  the  public,  whose 
feeling  inclined  more  towards  the  surintendant 
than  towards  his  accusers,  the  numerous  base  in- 
trigues these  letters  suggested  rather  than  proved, 
were  allowed,  to  a  certain  extent,  to  become 
generally  known.  Society  must  have  been  dread- 
fully scandalized  at  such  a  revelation,  considering 
how  pure  its  own  morals  were.  In  Fouquet's 
casket  of  lettres  galantes  were  found  several  lively 
espistles  from  the  Marquise  de  S6vigne.  Al- 
though Le  Tellier  himself  informed  her  cousin, 
Count   de  Bussy-Rabutin,  that  both   he  and  the 


SEVIGNE'S  APPEAL    TO   HER   FRIENDS    1 69 

king  had  regarded  them  merely  as  the  letters  of 
"  line  amie  trh  spiritiielle  " —  Fouquet  alone  being 
to  blame  for  having  ^^mal  apropos  vieU  V amour 
avec  ramitif' — yet  the  name  of  Madame  de  S6- 
vigne,  in  connection  with  that  of  the  unfortunate 
state  prisoner,  began  to  be  bandied  about  the 
city,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  time,  in 
jests  and  songs,  more  malignant  and  offensive 
than  witty.* 

The  marquise  appealed  to  Menage  and  Chape- 
lain,  men  of  repute  and  influence,  the  friends  of 
her  youth,  who  had  had  a  large  part  in  her 
education,  and  now  did  their  best  to  silence  those 
malicious  reports  against  a  woman  of  unsullied 
reputation.  She  was  annoyed  that  Fouquet  should 
have  placed  her  letters  ^^  dans  la  casette  de  ses 
poulets,''  but  rejoiced  on  having  ^^ jamais  von  In 
rien  chercher  ni  tronver  dans  sa  bourse !'  She  was, 
therefore,  the  better  able  to  prove  herself  the 
steadfast  friend  she  was  to  him  in  misfortune. 

*  Le  Comte  de  Bussy-Rabutin  was  himself  committed  to  the 
Bastille  in  the  course  of  the  following  year,  and  detained  there 
eighteen  months.  His  book,  "  Les  Amours  des  Gaules,"  which 
had  given  extreme  offence  to  the  persons  satirized  in  it,  and 
amongst  whom  he  did  not  scruple  to  put  Madame  de  Sevigne, 
was  the  pretext.  His  satirical  song,  or  hymn,  "Alleluia,"  in 
which  he  very  audaciously  —  considering  the  servile  adulation 
then  in  vogue  —  alluded  to  the  amours  of  "  Deodatus  "  —  Dieu- 
donne  being  the  epithet  applied  to  Louis  XIV.  at  his  birth  — 
was  the  real  cause  of  his  incarceration.  "  Les  Amours  des 
Gaules,"  however,  was  published  without  his  knowledge  by 
the  Marquise  de  la  Baume,  to  whom  he  had  confided  the  MS., 
and  who  sent  it  to  Holland  to  be  printed. 


I/O  OLD   PARIS 

When  in  Brittany,  Madame  de  Sevigne  had 
been  a  frequent  participator  in  the  pleasures  of 
the  brilliant  reunions  at  that  place  of  les  beaiix 
arts  ct  les  belles  lettres,  le  Chateau  de  Vaux. 
Fouquet,  like  Turenne  and  the  Prince  de  Conti, 
had  been  of  the  number  of  her  admirers  when,  in 
years  gone  by,  she  had  reappeared  in  the  bean 
monde  as  a  young  widow.  Bussy  confesses  that 
he,  too,  sought  to  find  more  favour  in  her  eyes 
than  his  relationship  merely  entitled  him  to  look 
for;  also  ^^qu'elle  trouvait  moyen  de  les  econdidre 
tons,  en  badijiant!'  It  appears,  however,  that 
with  the  fascinating  marquis,  something  more 
than  a  jest  was  needed  to  dismiss  him.  He  was 
persevering  in  his  attentions,  and  many  precau- 
tions were  necessary  in  order  to  escape  from 
them.  At  last,  she  says,  he  became  weary  of 
continuing  what  seemed  so  useless  a  pursuit,  "  et, 
fante  de  inienx,  was  content  to  accept  the  friend- 
ship she  offered  him." 

Napoleon  I.,  after  reading  her  letters  to  M.  de 
Pomponne  during  the  trial  of  Fouquet,  remarked 
that  '^Vinterct  de  Madame  de  Sevigne  etait  bien 
cJiand,  bien  vif,  bien  tendre,  pour  de  la  simple 
amitiey  It  was  one  of  those  friendships  that 
woman  does  occasionally  feel  for  man  —  deep, 
true,  devoted,  and  unselfish,  and  far  more  endur- 
ing than  love. 

With  what  anguish  of  mind  she  followed,  day 
by  day,   the   proceedings   of    the    mock    tribunal, 


MAZARIN'S  PECULATIONS  17I 

or  ^^ bureau  de  commission!''  It  was  composed 
of  twenty-two  persons  —  judges,  members  of  the 
council  of  state,  and  of  the  parliament  —  some  of 
whom  raved,  raged  and  insulted  their  prisoner 
when  they  perceived  that  his  explanations,  his 
quiet  dignity,  and  forcible  eloquence  when  allowed 
to  speak,  were  making  a  favourable  impression, 
alike  on  those  who  were  present  to  condemn  him, 
and  those  who  attended  merely  to  hear  his  de- 
fence. When  questioned  on  the  subject  of  his 
immense  expenditure,  he  asserted,  and  desired  to 
be  allowed  to  prove,  that  the  reckless  extrava- 
gance he  was  charged  with  having  indulged  in  at 
the  expense  of  the  state,  was  quite  within  what 
his  own  means  permitted.  But  all  papers  were 
withheld  from  him ;  they  had  been  thoroughly 
examined  by  his  enemies  —  the  king,  Colbert,  and 
his  clique  —  and  only  those  that  told  against  him 
were  produced. 

All  that  could  be  done  —  and  his  most  san- 
guine friends  hoped  to  do  no  more  than  save  his 
life,  to  prevail  on  the  king  to  be  merciful,  to 
propitiate  the  judges,  to  bribe  those  who  were 
willing  to  take  bribes  —  and  few  were  found  in 
those  days  to  refuse  them  —  was  for  three  years 
unremittingly  and  unswervingly  persisted  in. 

Certain  branches  of  the  revenue  had  been 
wholly  appropriated  by  Mazarin.  He  had  drawn 
enormous  sums  yearly  for  secret  expenses,  exacted 
commission  on  all  stores  provided  for  the  equip- 


1/2  OLD   PARIS 

ment  of  the  army,  and  otherwise  pilfered  in  every 
department  of  the  government.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  buy  for  a  trifle  any  quantity  of  old  dis- 
credited government  bills  {^' vieux  billets  decries'''), 
as  if  to  withdraw  them  from  the  hands  of  the  pub- 
lic, but  in  reality  to  present  them  to  the  surin- 
tendajit  des  finances  for  payment  in  full.  For 
these  and  other  depredations  of  the  all-powerful 
cardinal  on  the  finances  of  the  state,  Fouquet  was 
arraigned.  Having  allowed  them,  made  him,  in 
some  degree,  a  participator  in  the  cardinal's  crime. 
But  whether  he  could  or  could  not  say  anything 
in  self-justification  mattered  not  at  all ;  for  Colbert 
hated  him,  the  king  hated  him,  and,  whatever  the 
convictions  of  his  judges,  acquittal  was  impossible. 
Yet  all  France  was  waiting  in  trembling,  breath- 
less expectation  for  his  sentence. 

The  prisoner  himself  was  more  calm,  resigned, 
cheerful,  and  self-possessed  than  any  of  his 
friends.  Madame  de  Sevigne  was  persuaded  to 
accompany  some  ladies  to  a  house  looking  directly 
into  the  court  of  the  arsenal,  across  which  Fouquet 
had  to  pass  from  the  council  chamber  after  having 
been  interrogated.  She  went  masked,  not  desir- 
ing that  her  ^'panvi'c  ami "  should  recognize  her. 
M.  d'Artagnan,  who  had  charge  of  him,  was  beside 
him,  and  at  twenty  or  thirty  paces  distant  a  guard 
of  fifty  moiisqiietaires  followed.  He  had  a  very 
pensive  air.  "  As  for  me,"  she  says,  "  when  I  first 
perceived  him,  my  limbs  trembled,  and  my  heart 


S/'lV/GA'frS   DEEP  EMOTION  1/3 

beat  so  violently  that  I  could  scarcely  support  my- 
self. As  he  approached,  and  was  about  to  enter 
his  den  {troii),  M.  d'Artagnan  directed  his  atten- 
tion to  us.  He  immediately  looked  up,  and,  with 
that  pleasant,  smiling  expression  you  know  so 
well,  saluted  us.  I  do  not  think  he  recognized 
me  ;  but  I  confess  that  I  was  strangely  affected 
when  I  saw  him  pass  through  that  low,  nar- 
row doorway."  The  only  hope  of  Madame  de 
Sevigne  was  in  the  ability,  impartiality,  and  in- 
tegrity, of  M.  d'Ormesson,  the  chief  ''rapporteur'" 
in  the  case,  and  on  whom  it  first  devolved  to  re- 
capitulate and  comment  on  the  evidence,  and  to 
give  his  own  vote,  either  for  life  or  death.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  recapitulation  would  occupy 
him  not  less  than  a  week.  "  Entrc-ci  et  la,'  she 
exclaims,  ''  ce  n  est  pas  vivre;  jc  lie  crois  pas  que  je 
piiisse  aller  jusqiie-lay 

Quite  as  much  interested  for  Pelisson,  and 
scarcely  less  so  for  Fouquet,  was  Mademoiselle  de 
Scudery.  After  two  years  of  constant  endeavour, 
she  obtained  from  Colbert  permission  for  Madame 
Pelisson  to  see  her  son.  The  like  small  favour  all 
her  efforts  failed  to  secure  for  Fouquet.  Refer- 
ring afterwards  to  this  celebrated  state  trial,  she 
says  that  she  had  burnt  more  than  five  hundred 
letters  on  the  subject,  and  that  she  herself  had 
written  a  larger  number  while  the  prisoners  were 
in  the  Bastille.  To  her,  the  family  of  the  marquis, 
and   many  of   his  friends,   resorted    for  comfort, 


174  OLD   PARIS 

Madame  de  Sevigne  often  refers  to  her.  "  Sapho, 
dont  V esprit  et  la  penetration  n  ont  point  de  homes ^' 
consoled  her. 

Pelisson,  the  secretary,  who  was  of  less  impor- 
tance than  the  wealthy  and  fascinating  snrintend- 
ant,  but  for  his  fidelity  to  him  would  have  been 
released.  He  was  four  years  and  a  half  in  the 
Bastille,  and  had  the  courage  to  publish  three  dis- 
courses or  pleadings  addressed  to  the  king  in 
defence  of  his  chief. 

These  discourses  have  been  pronounced  models 
of  judiciary  eloquence,  unequalled  in  the  seven- 
teenth or  eighteenth  century.  Yet  they  were  not 
the  productions  of  a  lawyer,  the  pleadings  of  a 
barrister,  or  even  judicial  memoirs.  They  were 
inspired  by  the  courage  of  true  friendship  for  one 
who,  from  a  high  and  influential  position,  had 
fallen  into  misfortune,  and  display  great  oratorical 
talent,  animated  by  zeal  to  avert  the  danger 
threatening  the  accused.  Voltaire  compared  them 
to  the  pleadings  of  Cicero.  And,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  La  Harpe,  when  this  testimony  to  their 
excellence  was  given,  there  existed  nothing  at  all 
approaching  them  in  eloquence  in  modern  writings 
of  the  kind,  or  that,  beside  them,  could  be  put  in 
comparison  with  the  discourses  of  the  ancient  ora- 
tors. He  admires  the  style,  the  noble  sentiments 
and  ideas,  the  close  connection  of  the  proofs 
adduced,  and  their  lucid  explanation,  the  force  of 
the  reasonings,  and  the  art  with  which  a  vein  of 


/IDa^ame  ^e  Scvigne 


FOUQimrS  SENTENCE  1/5 

subdued  satire  running  through  them  is  used  to 
strengthen  the  orator's  arguments.  With  much 
skill  and  address,  it  is  made  to  appear  that  the 
king's  glory  is  interested  in  absolving  the  accused. 
Many  other  beauties  are  noticed  —  the  sublimity 
of  the  thoughts,  and  the  extreme  pathos  of  the 
peroration  especially  addressed  to  the  king. 

But  Pelisson  expended  his  rhetoric  in  vain  on 
so  ignorant  and  selfish  a  despot.  It  was  like  cast- 
ing pearls  before  swine.  La  Fontaine  pleaded  also 
for  his  friend  Fouquet  in  a  poetical  address,  and 
many  others  employed  their  pens  zealously  in  the 
work  of  intercession  with  more  or  less  force  and 
feeling.  The  king's  only  remark  on  this  demon- 
stration in  favour  of  Fouquet  was,  "Zt-  Marquis 
dc  Belle  Isle  est  un  Jionime  dangereiix.'"  It  in- 
flamed, too,  the  hatred  of  Colbert  and  his  party ; 
and  the  sentence  of  the  commission,  severe  as  it 
was,  as  it  fell  short  of  death,  enraged  them  still 
more.  **  Banishment  and  confiscation,"  said  M. 
d'Ormesson.  "A  gibbet  and  a  rope  are  his  due," 
said  Pussort,  Colbert's  uncle;  "but  as  he  is  of  a 
distinguished  family,  let  him  lose  his  head."  A 
majority  of  three  confirmed  Ormesson's  sentence. 

"Lone:::  Dieji!  notre  pauvre  ami  est  sative !'' 
exclaimed  Madame  de  Sevigne,  as  she  despatched 
her  courier,  who,  during  the  trial,  was  constantly 
on  the  road  between  Paris  and  Livry  with  the 
latest  intelligence  for  M.  de  Pomponne,  almost  as 
much  interested  as  herself  in  the  result.     But  a 


176  OLD   PARIS 

disappointment  still  awaited  her.  There  was  a 
chance,  she  believed,  of  bidding  adieu  to  her  friend 
before  leaving  his  country.  Some  even  thought 
that  a  pardon  would  come  from  the  king  at  the 
last  moment.  The  poor  little  queen  had  been  en- 
treated by  the  Countess  de  Vaux,  Fouquet's 
mother,  to  intercede  for  her  son,  and  great  hopes 
were  built  upon  it.  For  she  had  earned  the  pro- 
found gratitude  of  Maria  Theresa,  whom  she  found 
suffering  intensely  from  a  fit  of  the  vapours,  by 
sending  her  a  plaster  which  had  so  effectually 
cured  her  that  it  was  looked  upon  almost  as  a 
miracle,  and  Madame  Fouquet  as  a  saint.  Madame 
de  Sevigne  was,  however,  less  sanguine.  *^Je 
connais  trop,"  she  remarked,  '^  des  tcndresses  de  ce 
pays  lay  Yet  she  was  inclined  to  draw  comfort 
from  the  length  of  the  tail  of  a  comet  that  was 
visible  at  that  time,  and  that  was  generally  be- 
lieved to  have  had  great  influence  on  the  trial, 
both  for  good  and  for  evil,  as  wishes  or  opinions 
on  the  subject  varied. 

The  rage  of  Colbert  was  so  excessive  at  his 
victim's  escape  from  the  scaffold,  and  the  proba- 
bility of  his  finding,  in  spite  of  the  confiscation  of 
the  whole  of  his  property,  an  honourable  asylum 
in  some  other  country,  that  "  something  atrocious 
was  looked  for."  The  king,  too,  was  extremely 
disappointed.  Even  he  could  scarely  venture  to 
pass  sentence  of  death  upon  one  whom  a  majority 
of  the   persons  appointed   by  himself  to   try  the 


THE   FORTRESS   OF  PIGNEROL  I  J  J 

accused  had  spared.  He  therefore  disposed  of  the 
difficulty  by  striking  out  "banishment,"  and  writ- 
ing in  its  place  "perpetual  imprisonment."  The 
wife  was  refused  permission  to  share  her  husband's 
prison,  and  was  banished,  with  his  mother  and 
other  near  relatives,  to  distant  parts  of  France. 

Poor  Madame  de  Sevigne  !  She  had  to  moder- 
ate her  transports  ;  but  she  was  not  one  of  those 
who  grieve  long  —  ^^  son  sourire  etait  bien  prh  de 
scs  larmes."  "What  she  would  have  become,  she 
knew  not,"  she  said ;  "  whether  she  could  have 
survived,  she  doubted,  had  Fouquet  been  con- 
demned to  death."  But  his  life  is  spared,  '^ qui  est 
une  grande  affaire ;  "  banishment  is  changed  to 
imprisonment,  "  g//i  est  line  grande  riguenr.  Mais 
ayons  du  courage  ;  il  faut  mettre  sa  eonfiance  en 
Dicu  et  laisser  notre  pauvre  cJier  ami  sous  sa  Pro- 
tection.'' Fouquet  was  imprisoned  in  the  fortress 
of  Pignerol,  a  guard  of  fifty  soldiers  placed  over 
him,  and  generally  he  was  treated  with  much 
severity.  While  on  his  journey  there  arose  a 
report  that  he  had  been  taken  ill ;  immediately 
there  was  an  outcry  —  ^' Dtyd!  deja  !''  It,  how- 
ever, proved  to  be  a  false  rumour,  originating  in 
the  general  belief  that,  although  Fouquet  had 
escaped  the  scaffold,  poison  awaited  him  in  his 
dungeon  at  Pignerol.  He  is  supposed  to  have 
died  there  in  1680;  but  it  has  been  asserted,  by 
Gourville  and  others,  that  he  left  it  shortly  before 
his  death.      His  grandson,  the   Marquis  de  Belle 


178   •  OLD    PARIS 

Isle,  was  a  distinguished  general  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  He  was  that  Marechal 
de  France  who  had  the  conduct  of  the  war  against 
the  empress-queen,  Maria  Theresa,  in  the  reign  of 
Louis  XV. 

The  ofifice  of  siiriutendant  dcs  finances  was 
abolished,  or  rather  the  holder  of  it  was  styled 
controllcur-general  ct  secretaire  d'etat,  instead  of 
snrintendant,  and  the  subordinate  posts  of  control- 
leiirs,  which  existed  under  the  snrintendant,  were 
done  away  with.  All  who  had  been  employed 
under  Fouquet  were  dismissed,  and  subjected 
either  to  a  part  confiscation  of  their  property, 
heavy  fines,  or  a  term  of  imprisonment,  and  the 
grand  Colbert  reigned.  In  the  correspondence  of 
Madame  de  Sevigne  and  M.  de  Pomponne  he  is 
called  "Petit,''  with  reference  to  the  baseness  of 
his  conduct  towards  Fouquet.  With  equal  truth, 
too,  she  called  him  "  the  North,"  and  the  man  he 
so  hated  "the  South;"  and  no  doubt  they  were 
in  character  "  far  as  the  poles  asunder."  Colbert, 
austere,  hard,  cold,  prudent,  scrupulous,  severe,  a 
great  financier  and  stern  man  of  business  ;  Fou- 
quet, genial  in  disposition,  generous,  spiritiiel,  a 
lover  and  patron  of  les  belles-lettres  and  les 
beaux  arts  ;  full  of  grace  and  politeness,  and  a  true 
kindliness  of  heart  that  won  for  him  the  sincere 
affection  of  a  host  of  friends,  as  well  as  the  esteem 
of  the  people  amongst  whom  he  lived. 

Colbert,    no    doubt,    had    great    and    manifold 


woa/ajv\s  privilege  179 

merits,  and  justly  to  record  them  may  safely  be 
left  to  the  impartial  pen  of  the  grave  historian. 
The  pen  of  woman  (not  always  strictly  impartial, 
being  often  under  the  uncontrolled  guidance  of 
feeling)  finds  a  more  congenial  theme  in  extolling 
the  less  rugged  virtues,  the  gentler  and  more  en- 
gaging qualities,  that  distinguished  the  unfortunate 
victim  of  envy  and  malice — the  brilliant  and  fas- 
cinating Nicolas  Fouquet,  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle. 

^^  Les  femincs,''  as  Madame  de  Sevigne  truly 
says,  ^'  out  permission  d'etre  faibles,  et  elles  se  ser- 
ve nt  sans  scrnpule  de  ce  privilege y 


CHAPTER    XV. 

The  Salons  Nevers  and  Mazarin.  —  Saint  fivremond's  Letter. — 
Saint  fivremond  Escapes. —  A  Welcome  in  England.  —  The 
Hotel  de  Nevers.  —  Madame  Des  Houlieres.  —  Poems  of 
Madame  Des  Houlieres.  —  Her  Rescue  from  Prison.  —  Sa- 
tirical Sonnet  on  "  Phedre." —  A  Duel  seems  Inevitable. — 
Rachel,  as  Phedre.  —  The  Brothers  Corneille.  —  First  Plays 
of  Racine.  —  Like  Coffee,  find  no  Favour.  —  "  Le  Misan- 
thrope."—  "  Les  Femmes  Savantes."  —  Theatre  du  Palais 
Royal,  1666. —  Moliere  in  Ninon's  Salon.  —  "  Tartuffoli ! 
Signor  Nuncio." 

iHE  Hotels  Nevers  and  Mazarin  re- 
opened their  salons  with  great  eclat  after 
Fouquet  was  safely  lodged  in  the  for- 
tress of  Pignerol.  Fears  had  been  entertained 
that  the  disclosures  at  his  trial  might  rouse  popu- 
lar indignation  against  the  cardinal's  heirs,  and 
perhaps  to  such  a  height  that  to  suppress  it,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  order  restitution  to  be  made 
to  the  coffers  of  the  state  of  some  portion  of  the 
spoil  with  which  Mazarin  had  enriched  himself  and 
his  Italian  peasant  family.  Profligacy,  under  the 
name  of  "  M(r?trs  italicnncs,''  reigned  in  those 
splendid  salons,  in  those  of  the  Hotel  de  Bouillon 
and  of  the  Countess  de  Soissons,  at  the  Louvre, 
and  wherever  a  member  of  that  group  of  Sicilians 


ST.   EVREMOND'S  LETTER    TO   DE    CREQUI    l8l 

presided.  Lcs  bienseaiiccSy  as  understood  at  the 
court  of  Louis  XIV.,  were  allowed  a  very  wide 
field  to  range  in  ;  but  the  Italians,  in  their  love  of 
freedom,  allowed  them  or  themselves  greater  lati- 
tude still. 

One  brilliant  member  of  their  circle  was,  how- 
ever, permanently  lost  to  them  —  the  witty  epicu- 
rean, philosopher,  Saint  Evremond,  who  had  been 
a  constant  frequenter  of  the  Hotel  Mazarin,  as 
well  as  of  the  spiritncl,  if  rather  lax,  society 
that  assembled  at  Ninon's.  While  examining  the 
private  papers  of  Fouquet  —  in  which  the  king 
took  great  delight,  from  a  petty  curiosity  he  had 
acquired  when  frequenting  the  idle  and  gossipping 
coterie  of  his  mother  and  her  ladies  —  Louis  met 
with  a  letter,  or  the  copy  of  one,  from  Saint  Evre- 
mond to  the  Due  de  Crequi,  giving  an  amusing 
and  satirical  account  of  the  cardinal's  conduct  of 
the  Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees,  and  of  the  questions 
of  precedence  and  etiquette  which  retarded  its 
completion.  It  was  a  mere yV//  d' esprit,  but  Louis 
had  resolved  to  put  down  such  presumptuous 
scribblers,  and  Saint  Evremond  was  only  saved 
from  joining  Bussy-Rabutin  in  the  Bastille  by  a 
hint  he  received  from  a  friend  of  the  lodging  then 
in  preparation  for  him.  He  fled  to  Holland,  thence 
to  England,  where,  in  the  congenial  atmosphere 
of  Charles's  libertine  court,  he  found  an  asylum 
and  a  cordial  welcome.  De  Grammont  and  other 
friends  endeavoured,  from  time  to  time,  to  induce 


152  OLD   PARIS 

the  king  to  pardon  an  offence  which,  it  was  be- 
Heved,  the  cardinal  himself  would  scarcely  have 
resented.  But  Louis  chose  to  regard  it  as  an 
act  of  treachery  towards  a  minister  in  whose 
service  and  confidence  he  was  at  the  time  it  was 
written. 

Thirty  years  after,  Saint  Evremond  received 
permission  to  return  to  France.  He  declined  to 
avail  himself  of  it.  A  new  generation,  he  said, 
had  sprung  up  since  he  left,  and  he  would  be 
"  leaving  old  and  sincere  friends,  accustomed  to 
his  wen,  to  go  amongst  strangers.  For  but  two 
or  three  of  the  friends  of  former  days  were  still 
living,  and  they  —  with  the  exception  of  De  Gram- 
mont  —  would  no  longer  find  in  his  face  any  re- 
semblance to  the  one  they  had  before  been  famil- 
iar with."  His  friend  Ninon,  too,  persuaded  in 
vain.  His  correspondence  with  her  had  been  con- 
stant, and  it  continued  till  his  death.  She  kept 
him  ail  coiirant  of  all  that  was  going  on  at  the 
court ;  gave  him  the  gossip  of  Parisian  society, 
and  any  other  information  she  thought  likely  to 
interest  or  amuse  him.  Some  of  her  letters  are 
bright  and  lively;  in  others,  she  is,  at  times,  too 
much  disposed  to  philosophize.  But  like  French 
women  generally,  of  any  education,  she  wielded  a 
very  facile  pen.  He  was  accustomed  to  recom- 
mend his  friends  to  her  when  visiting  Paris  — 
often  ladies  of  distinction  ;  amongst  others  Lady 
Sandwich,    the    daughter    of    Rochester,    who    is 


THE   HOTEL   DE   NEVERS  1 83 

said  to  have  very  greatly  admired  and  esteemed 
her.* 

But  if  Saint  Evremond  was  absent,  there  was 
no  lack  of  philosophers  of  the  same  school  to  take 
his  place,  or,  indeed,  of  the  bcmi  monde  generally 
to  fill  the  salons,  whose  society  was  thought  so 
corrupt  that  even  the  court  frowned  upon  it. 
This,  however,  was  in  the  latter  days  of  the  queen- 
mother,  whose  piety  increased  as  she  drew  nearer 
to  her  end.  She  was  then  sincerely  grieved,  and 
much  troubled  in  mind,  at  the  immoralities  of  the 
king,  though  she  had  so  largely  contributed  to 
make  him  what  he  was  —  suppressing  the  good  in 
his  character,  and  fostering  the  evil. 

The  Hotel  de  Nevers  made  greater  pretensions 
to  literary  distinction  than  the  Hotel  Mazarin. 
The  duke  himself  wrote  verses  ;  his  most  admired 
ones  were  on  the  work  of  the  Abbe  Ranee,  of  La 
Trappe  celebrity,  in  refutation  of  Fenelon's  "  Max- 
imes  des  Saints."  At  the  Hotel  de  Nevers  the 
idyls  and  pastorals  of  Madame  Des  Houlieres  — 
afterwards  so  greatly  renowned  —  were  first  read, 
and  the  verses  of  the  youthful  Mademoiselle 
Cheron,  still  more  distinguished  for  her  musical 
talent  and  for  her  success  as  an  artist.  She  was 
a  pupil  of  Le  Brun,  and  through  his  recommenda- 
tion was   elected  a  member  of  the  Academy  of 

*  Saint  fivremond  died  in  1703,  at  the  age  of  ninety,  three 
years  before  Mademoiselle  de  Lenclos,  who  attained  the  same 
age.     He  was  honoured  with  a  grave  in  Westminster  Abbey. 


1 84  OLD   PARIS 

Painting.  Several  large  historical  pictures,  and 
some  portraits  of  her  contemporaries  —  that  of 
Archbishop  Perefixe,  who  wrote  the  life  of  Henry 
IV.,  and  the  only  portrait  known  to  exist  of  Madame 
Des  Houlieres  —  were  painted  by  her. 

These  and  other  celebrities,  including  Moli^re, 
and  Madame  de  la  Sabliere — who  had  not  yet 
entirely  withdrawn  from  the  world  —  together 
with  La  Fontaine,  who  followed  wherever  Madame 
de  la  Sabliere  led,  gave  a  certain  literary  eclat 
to  the  Hotel  de  Nevers.  Of  the  poetesses  of 
her  day,  Madame  Des  Houlieres  is  now  the  best 
known  ;  though  by  name,  probably,  even  in  France, 
more  than  through  her  works,  with  the  exception 
of  certain  sentences  and  short  passages  that  have 
passed  into  proverbs.  She  wrote  songs,  epigrams, 
sonnets,  odes,  idyls,  and  even  tragedies.  In 
tragedy  she  was  less  successful  than  in  her  grace- 
ful pastorals,  on  which  her  fame  rests.  Her 
heroic  personages  discourse  far  less  naturally  than 
her  shepherds  and  shepherdesses.  But  charming 
Phyllis  and  Strephon,  and  their  bleating  young 
lambs,  are  gone  out  of  fashion  in  poetry,  though 
still  much  sought  after  in  porcelaine.  Their 
simple  occupations,  and  the  naivete  of  their  prat- 
tlings  on  friendship  and  love,  are  not  to  the  taste 
of  this  sophisticated  age.  It  is  wonderful,  indeed, 
that  ^^ces  reveries  d'un  cce?ir  tejieire  et  sensible" 
should  have-  met  with  so  enthusiastic  a  reception 
from  the  dissolute  society  for  whom  they  were 
written. 


MADAME   DES  HOULIERES  I  85 

Madame  Des  Houlieres  had  many  imitators,  but 
none  who  approached  her  either  in  the  harmony 
of  her  flowing  verse,  or  the  tenderness  and  beauty 
of  her  thoughts.  She  had  the  true  poetic  faculty; 
a  rare  gift  in  that  verse-writing  age,  and  possessed 
almost  exclusively  by  herself  and  the  two  or  three 
great  dramatic  poets  of  France.  A  book  of  prov- 
erbs in  verse  might  be  compiled  from  her  poems. 
For  instance,  the  following  lines  on  one  of  the  most 
prevalent  vices  of  the  bean  mondc  of  the  period  — 
gambling : 

"  Les  plaisirs  sont  amers,  sitot  qu'on  en  abuse ; 
II  est  bon  de  jouer  un  peu, 
Mais  il  faut  seulement  que  le  jeu  nous  amuse. 
Un  joueur,  d'un  commun  aveu, 
N'a  rien  humain  que  I'apparence, 
Et  d'ailleurs  il  n'est  pas  si  facile  qu'on  pense. 
D'etre  fort  honnete  homme  et  de  jouer  gros  jeu ; 
Le  desir  de  gagner,  qui  nuit  et  jour  I'occupe, 
Est  un  dangereux  aiguillon, 

Souvent,  quoique  I'esprit,  quoique  le  coeur  soit  bon. 
On  commence  par  etre  dupe, 
On  finit  par  etre  fripon," 

And  again : 

"  L' amour-propre  est,  h^las !  le  plus  sot  des  amours ; 
Cependant  des  erreurs  il  est  la  plus  commune. 
Quelque  puissant  qu'on  soit  en  richesse,  en  credit, 
Quelque  mauvais  succes  qu'ait  tout  ce  qu'on  ^crit. 

Nul  n'est  content  de  sa  fortune, 

Ni  mecontent  de  son  esprit."' 


1 86  OLD   PARIS 

Madame  Des  Hoiilieres  wrote  in  Spanish  and 
Italian  with  as  much  facility  as  in  French.  She 
was  beautiful,  too.  The  Great  Conde,  who  was 
not  remarkable  for  his  devotion  to  the  fair  sex,  had 
sighed  at  her  feet,  and  sighed  in  vain.  M.  Des 
Houlieres  and  Mademoiselle  du  Ligier  were  then 
one  of  the  few  couples  who  had  married  for  love. 
She  was  seventeen  when,  in  1651,  their  marriage 
took  place.  Her  husband,  attached  to  the  Great 
Conde,  took  part  in  his  rebellion,  and  in  his  absence 
his  young  wife  was  seized  and  conveyed  to  one  of 
the  prisons  of  state.  As  soon  as  he  was  informed  of 
it  he  left  the  rebel  camp,  and,  by  means  of  bribes, 
entered  the  fortress  disguised  as  a  Royalist  soldier, 
and,  in  a  similar  disguise,  carried  off  his  wife.  They 
both  shared  the  exile  of  Conde,  and  returned  to 
France  with  him  when  the  amnesty,  as  stipulated 
by  the  Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees,  was  granted  in 
1660. 

With  his  pardon,  some  post  in  the  government 
was  also  bestowed  on  M.  Des  Houlieres,  and  the 
poetess —  then  twenty-seven  —  by  her  beauty  and 
her  genius  (she  was  called  the  tenth  muse)  soon 
shone  as  a  bright  star  in  literary  and  fashionable 
society.  Some  years  after,  she  was  accused  of 
endeavouring  to  bring  ridicule  on  Racine's  grand 
tragedy  of  "Phedre"  by  a  satirical  sonnet,  written 
after  witnessing  its  first  representation.  "  Is  it 
not  enough,"  says  Voltaire,  in  reference  to  this 
sonnet,  "that  women  should  show  jealousy  in  love; 


SATIRICAL   SONNET  ON  ''PHEDRE"        I  8/ 

must  their  jealousy  extend  even  to  the  belles-let- 
tres?'' It  was  made  to  appear  that  it  was  the 
actress  who  played  Aricie,  and  who  was  enor- 
mously stout,  for  whom  the  satire  was  really  in- 
tended. The  sonnet,  however,  was  near  causing 
a  duel.  It  was  printed  and  distributed  in  the 
salons,  but  its  author's  name  was  withheld.  As 
Nevers  frequently  exercised  his  brilliant  pen  in 
scribbling  sonnets,  the  authorship  of  this  one  was 
immediately  assigned  to  him,  and  the  more  readily 
as  he  had  had  the  folly  to  extol  the  mediocre  pro- 
ductions of  Pradon,  and  to  set  them  above  the 
tragedies  of  Racine.  A  few  days  after,  another 
sonnet  appeared,  parodying  the  first,  and  very 
pointedly  ridiculing  the  duke's  poetical  effusions. 
This  —  again  erroneously  —  was  attributed  to  Ra- 
cine and  his  friend  Boileau,  and  although  it  was 
repudiated  by  them,  Nevers,  stung  to  the  quick 
by  the  irritating  nature  of  the  satire,  publicly  de- 
clared that  he  "would  have  those  two  poets  soundly 
flogged." 

This  coming  to  the  ears  of  Monsieur  le  Due  — 
the  son  of  the  Grand  Conde  —  a  great  patron  of 
letters,  and  the  friend  of  Racine  and  Boileau,  he 
declared  himself  their  protector,  and  informed  the 
Due  de  Nevers  that  any  insults  offered  to  them 
he  should  look  upon  as  offered  to  himself.  And 
further,  until  the  sonneteers  should  explain  and 
apologize,  or  the  affair  be  settled  by  a  hostile 
meeting,  Monsieur  le  Due  announced  that  he  had 


I  88  OLD    PARIS 

invited  the  poets  to  take  up  their  residence  in  his 
palace.  The  court,  as  well  as  all  the  salons  of 
Paris,  was  occupied  in  discussing  the  mystery  of 
the  authorship  of  the  sonnets.  Various  poets 
were  named,  but  no  satisfactory  conclusion  was 
arrived  at.  The  mystery  gave  piquancy  to  the 
quarrel,  and  made  it  even  more  exciting  than  when 
society  was  divided  into  two  hostile  camps,  and 
disputes  ran  high  on  the  respective  merits  of  the 
sonnets  of  Benserade  and  Voiture. 

The  two  dukes,  meanwhile,  had  so  undisguisedly 
expressed  feelings  of  mutual  contempt  that  a  duel 
was  looked  upon  as  inevitable,  and  Madame  Des 
Houlieres,  alarmed  at  the  threatening  aspect  the 
affair  had  assumed,  resolved  to  declare  herself  the 
original  offender.  Immediately,  Monsieur  le  Due 
removed  his  hand  from  the  hilt  of  the  sword  which 
he  had  been  about  to  draw.  But  the  Due  de 
Nevers  vowed  that  his  sword  should  not  rest  in 
its  scabbard,  when,  following  the  example  set  by 
the  lady,  a  party  of  young  men,  amongst  whom 
were  the  Comte  de  Fiesque  and  the  Chevalier  de 
Nantouillet,  confessed  themselves  the  avengers  of 
Racine ;  also,  that  one  and  all,  with  either  pistols 
or  swords,  were  ready  to  give  satisfaction  to  the 
Due  de  Nevers  if  he  felt  the  retort  unprovoked 
and  himself  aggrieved.  The  duke,  who  thought, 
as  his  uncle  had  often  thought  before  him,  that 
"discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valour,"  de- 
clared himself  far  less  aggrieved  than  amused. 


THE   BROTIIEKS   COKNEILLE  I  89 

Society  laughed  and  clapped  its  hands  when 
the  farce  was  ended,  and  "  Damon,"  as  the  son- 
neteers called  the  duke,"  retired  to  ^' son  palais 
dore  /aire  dcs  vers  oil  jamais  pcrsonne  ncntcnd 
rieny  The  only  person  to  whom  the  maiivaise 
plaisanterie  of  Madame  Des  Houlieres  did  any 
real  harm  was  the  "grosse  Aricie,"  who  excited 
so  much  laughter  when  she  made  her  appearance 
that  she  felt  compelled  to  give  up  the  part.  The 
scene  with  Phedre  probably  gained  in  effect  when 
a  less  portly  person  assumed  the  character.  But 
who  that  ever  saw  the  gifted  Rachel  in  her  tragic 
grandeur,  as  Phedre,  remarked  whether  her  confi- 
dent e  Aricie  was  fat  or  thin.'*  Yet  La  Champ- 
mesle,  who  first  played  the  part  of  Phedre,  was  a 
very  great  actress.  There  were  many,  however, 
who,  while  admiring  her  talent,  like  Madame  de 
Sevigne,  failed  to  appreciate  the  genius  of  Racine, 
and  many  more  who,  from  jealousy,  were  unwill- 
ing to  recognize  it.  In  the  opinion  of  most  per- 
sons, Madame  Des  Houlieres  was  of  the  number 
of  the  latter. 

The  coterie  of  poets  that,  in  1664,  assembled 
twice  or  thrice  weekly  at  the  house  of  Boileau 
Despreaux,  included  Pierre  Corneille  and  his 
brother  Thomas,  who  was  nineteen  years  his  jun- 
ior, and  in  some  sort  both  the  pupil  and  the  rival 
of  the  elder  dramatist.  He  wrote  thirty-four  plays, 
being  one  in  excess  of  the  number  written  by  his 
brother.     But  genius  inspired  Pierre,  and  the  sue- 


190  OLD    PARIS 

cess  of  Pierre  inspired  Thomas.  Yet  many  sub- 
lime passages  may  be  found  in  his  works ;  his 
tragedy  of  "  Ariane  "  is  considered  his  masterpiece 
—  the  subject  being  pathetic,  the  sentiments  noble 
and  often  eloquently  expressed.  The  fame  of 
Pierre  Corneille  —  the  Peter  the  Great  of  French 
tragedy  —  rests  chiefly,  as  is  known,  on  his  earlier 
works  —  "Le  Cid,"  "  Cinna,"  "  Les  Horaces," 
"  Polyeucte,"  and  detached  scenes  in  "  Radogune," 
"  Pompee,"  etc.  Some  critics  have  adjudged  the 
palm  of  excellence  to  "  Les  Horaces,"  as  far  as  the 
first  three  acts  —  what  follows  forming  almost  a 
distinct  play,  destroying  the  interest  of  the  first. 
Of  all  his  tragedies,  it  is  the  one  most  entirely  the 
creation  of  his  own  genius,  and  in  which  its 
grandeur  and  sublimity  are  most  strikingly  appar- 
ent —  there  being  little  that  is  dramatic  in  the 
subject  itself. 

Moliere  was  one  of  Boileau's  society  of  poets, 
also  young  Racine  — "  L'immortel  Jean,"  as  Vol- 
taire calls  him  — who  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  elder 
dramatists,  seeking  approbation  and  encourage- 
ment, which  Boileau,  alone,  had  the  discernment 
and  disinterestedness  heartily  to  give  him.  His 
first  tragedy —  "  Theogene  "  —  he  gave  to  Moliere, 
who  furnished  him  with  the  subject  of  his  second 
attempt  —  "Les  Freres  ennemis."  But  neither 
had  any  marked  success.  His  third  — "  Alexan- 
dre "  —  Corneille  thought  so  ill  of  that  he  earnestly 
advised  him   to   write   no    more.      Chapelain   cor- 


THE   FIRST  PLAYS   OF  RACINE  IQI 

rected  those  first  efforts  of  Racine  —  Chapelain, 
who  had  so  signally  failed  as  a  poet  himself,  was 
an  excellent  critic.  But  "Alexandre,"  like  its 
predecessors,  excited  little  interest.  Then  came 
"  Andromaque,"  and,  though  envy  and  prejudice 
did  their  best  to  decry,  and  to  put  down,  this  ris- 
ing genius,  it  was  felt  that,  in  depicting  the  pas- 
sions, a  greater  than  Corneille  had  arisen.  It  is 
possible  that  the  later  plays  of  Corneille  may  owe 
something  of  their  extreme  inferiority  to  his  earlier 
ones,  to  a  feeling  of  discouragement,  arising  from 
a  consciousness  of  the  superiority  of  his  rival, 
rather  than  from  any  premature  decay  of  his 
powers.  Yet  the  public  voice  continued  in  his 
favour ;  and,  as  if  fearing  that  the  great  reputa- 
tion of  the  "father  of  French  dramatic  poetry" 
was  imperilled  by  the  success  of  the  younger  dram- 
atist, refused  to  confirm  the  judgment  of  the  few 
who  were  found  to  appreciate  the  merits  of  Ra- 
cine. Even  when  increased  favour  was  accorded 
to  his  plays,  a  large  part  of  society  declared  that 
it  would  prove  to  be  a  mere  passing  caprice. 
Coffee,  it  appears,  was  introduced  to  the  notice  of 
the  beau  inondc  of  Paris  at  about  the  same  time  as 
were  Racine's  tragedies,  and  found  as  much  diffi- 
culty as  the  poet  in  securing  its  suffrage.  Of 
both  it  was  pronounced,  "  qiiils  n  iroicnt  pas 
loiti ;''  yet,  by  the  force  of  their  respective  mer- 
its, both  permanently  established  themselves  in  the 
estimation  of  all  classes. 


192  OLD    PARIS 

The  best  plays  of  Moliere  were  the  least  well- 
received  by  the  public.  "  Le  Misanthrope"  was 
played  but  four  times.  It  was  not  generally  un- 
derstood. It  was  intended  —  as  has  been  asserted 
—  to  read  a  lesson  to  the  Due  de  Montausier,  who 
never  scrupled  to  tell  the  king  his  mind,  whether 
likely  to  prove  agreeable  to  his  godship  or  not. 
He  attended  its  first  representation,  and  was  to 
learn  from  it  that  a  little  suavity  of  manner  was 
not  incompatible  with  great  wisdom  and  rigid 
virtue.  Moliere  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  Misan- 
thrope many  expressions  which  the  duke  was  ac- 
customed to  use,  and  referred  also  to  many  of  his 
known  peculiarities,  in  order  to  make  the  picture 
more  striking.  But  after  witnessing  it,  though  he 
knew  from  unmistakable  hints  that  had  been  given 
him  that  in  the  Misanthrope  he  was  the  person 
aimed  at,  he  pronounced  it  "  by  no  means  offensive, 
and  a  very  good  play."  So  it  is  evident  the  duke 
did  not  see  himself  as  others,  or  at  least  as  Moliere, 
saw  him,  or  if  he  did,  that  he  liked  the  picture. 

The  same  cold  reception  was  given  to  "  Les 
Femmes  savantes."  The  subject  was  a  dreary 
one,  and  five  acts  on  so  sterile  a  theme  as  a  pre- 
tension to  learning  and  esprit  (exhausted  already 
in  "  Les  Precieuses  ridicules ")  were  considered 
more  than  human  patience  could  bear.  There 
was  a  prejudice  against  it  before  it  was  produced, 
and  the  merits  of  the  piece  failed  to  create  a  re- 
action in  its  favour.      What  is  said  in  it  on  the 


"Z^.S-   FEMMKS  SAI'AjVTES"  1 93 

subject  of  education  is  taken,  almost  word  for 
word,  from  "  Le  Grand  Cyrus  "  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Scudery,  written  several  years  before.  A  small 
section  of  Ics  gmndcs  dames  had  become  at  that 
period  less  desirous  to.  shine  in  the  salons  by  their 
esprit  and  agreeable  conversation  than  to  be  dis- 
tinguished in  literary  circles  for  the  profundity  of 
their  learning.  It  was  the  fashion  to  acquire  some 
knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin,  to  be  interested  in 
scientific  subjects,  and  deeply  versed  in  the  meta- 
physics of  Descartes.  Some  ladies  whom  the 
gambling-table  had  compelled  to  many  retrench- 
ments, in  order  to  retrieve  their  losses,  solaced 
themselves  by  employing  their  leisure  in  the  study 
of  astronomy.  This  was  a  change  for  the  better, 
no  doubt ;  but,  often,  confusing  astronomy  with 
astrology,  it  was  studied  with  a  view  to  searching 
into  futurity  rather  than  for  a  more  enlightened 
acquaintance  with  the  starry  heavens. 

The  pursuits  and  studies  of  these  learned  ladies 
were  regarded  as  a  censure  on  the  frivolous  pas- 
times of  the  court.  Moliere,  therefore,  resolved 
to  satirize  and  ridicule  them. 

"  Ce  iietaitpas,'"  says  Roederer,  " /r  spectacle  de 
la  societe  qiiinspirait  la  comedie  '  Les  Femmes 
savantes'  Moliere  voidait  attaqiier poicr  plaire  an 
roi  line  societe  gni,puissante  dans  V opinion,  gagnait 
tons  les  jours  dans  l' esprit  dn  roi  Ini-nieme.  II  etait 
embarrasse  et  a  vianque  ici  de  son  bitt.''  Moliere 
gained  more  popularity  with  the  people  when  he 


194  OLD   PARIS 

descended  to  low  comedy,  in  such  pieces  as  "  Les 
Foiirberies  de  Scapin,"  "  M.  de  Pourceaugnac," 
etc.  Only  buffoonery  and  vulgar  jests,  that  raised 
loud  laughter,  pleased  the  groundlings  ;  and  even 
his  more  refined  audiences  -had  scarcely  sufficient 
culture  and  perception  of  humour  to  detect  and 
appreciate  the  covert  satire  running  through  the 
dialogue  in  several  of  his  best  plays. 

Yet  the  play  must  have  been  good,  indeed,  to 
have  afforded  a  mixed  audience  much  pleasure, 
with  the  mise-en-schie  customary  in  the  days  of 
Moliere.  The  salle,  terribly  cold  unless  well  filled^ 
was  lighted  only  by  a  few  wretched  tallow  candles, 
two  candle-snuffers  being  constantly  employed  in 
preventing  their  dim,  smoky  glare  from  making 
the  darkness  more  visible  than  the  players.  Six- 
poor  scraping  fiddlers  formed  the  orchestra — for 
the  royal  bands,  of  twelve  and  twenty-four,  en 
grande  temte,  were  in  requisition  only  when  "  La 
troupe  du  roi,"  as  Moliere's  company  of  players 
was  now  called,  played  before  the  king.  A  privi- 
leged part  of  the  audience  sat  on  the  stage,  which 
was  encumbered  with  benches  and  chairs  for  the 
accommodation  of  those  grandees,  whose  frequent 
exits — for  refreshment  at  the  buffets  in  front  of 
the  theatre,  and  at  the  entrances  —  usually  dis- 
tracting the  attention  at  some  interesting  part  of 
the  play,  were  extremely  confusing.  Such  were 
the  arrangements  when  the  Due  de  Montausier 
witnessed  the  first  representation  of  "  Le  Misan- 


MOLIKRK'S  PLAYS  IN  NINON'S  SALON    1 95 

thrope  "  on  May  30,  1666.  But  considering  how 
fanciful  was  the  costume  of  the  gay  gallants  who 
figured  so  prominently  on  the  stage  of  that  day, 
they  may  have  given  picturesqueness  to  the  scene 
when  "  they  stood  about  grouped  in  careless  atti- 
tudes," like  supernumeraries  of  the  modern  stage, 
who  represent  the  ancient  barons,  bold  warriors, 
daring  brigands,  or  happy  villagers. 

One  can  imagine  that  it  must  have  been  far 
more  pleasing  and  satisfactory  to  hear  Moliere 
read  his  own  plays,  as  he  frequently  did  to  a  brill- 
iant and  sph'ituel  audience  in  Mademoiselle  de 
Lenclos's  well-lighted  salon,  "on  the  walls  of 
which  the  history  of  Psyche  was  painted,  in 
panels,  the  intervening  spaces  being  filled  with 
Venetian  mirrors." 

Moliere,  and  Ninon,  and  Madame  de  la  Sabliere 
are  said  to  have  consulted  more  than  once  together 
to  devise  an  appropriate  title  for  the  play  after- 
wards named  "Tartuffe."  This  title,  as  probably 
everybody  knows,  suggested  itself  to  Moliere  (if 
the  anecdote  may  be  relied  upon)  when,  one  day, 
some  affairs  took  him  to  the  residence  of  the  Nun- 
cio. Two  extremely  devout-looking  ecclesiastics, 
apparently  wrapped  in  profound  meditation,  were 
in  the  apartment.  A  basket  of  truffles  happened 
to  be  brought  in  as  an  offering  to  his  Eminence, 
whose  attention  at  the  moment  was  engaged.  One 
of  the  priests,  however,  saw  the  savoury  roots.  His 
eyes  gleamed  with  delight,  and  forgetting  his  role 


196  OLD    PARIS 

of  devotee,  he  jumped  up,  exclaiming,  "Tartuffoli! 
Signor  Nuncio,  Tartuffoli !  "  Moliere,  ever  observ- 
ant, was  struck  by  this  sudden  change  from  a 
severely  pious  air  to  a  gloating  one  over  a  basket 
of  truffles,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  Tartuffe 
would  be  a  happy  designation  for  his  still  unchris- 
tened  impostor. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

Death  of  Anne  of  Austria.  —  Bossuet,  fiveque  de  Condom.  —  Le 
Grand  Monarque.  —  Louis's  Preference  for  Versailles. —  His 
Numerous  Court.  —  The  Satirist  of  the  Fronde. —  La  Prin- 
cesse  d'filide.  —  The  Fetes  of  1667.  —  An  Address  to  the 
Sun.  —  Versailles  in  its  Glory.  —  A  Grand  Promenade.  —  The 
Sun  and  the  Lesser  Lights. — The  Court  and  the  Salons. — 
A  Confidential  Secretary.  —  L'Appartement  du  Roi.  —  Social 
Freedom. 

iHE  sufferings  of  Anne  of  Austria* 
terminated  in  death  in  1666.  So  great 
had  been  her  influence  over  her  son 
that  he  never,  probably,  until  that  event  happened, 
felt  himself  wholly  exempt  from  control.  Much 
affection  for  his  indolent,  indulgent  mother,  and 
great  delight  in  her  society,  he  had  from  childhood 
constantly  evinced  ;  and  it  was  his  filial  disposition, 
the  best  trait  in  his  character,  that  so  long  impelled 
him  to  show  deference  and  respect  towards  the 
man  she  had  taught  him  to  reverence  as  a  father. 
Her  funeral  oration  was  pronounced  by  Bossuet. 
It  was  his  first,  and  his  least  happy  effort  in  that 
branch  of  pulpit  oratory  in  which  he  afterwards  so 
greatly  excelled.  He  was,  however,  rewarded  with 
the  bishopric  of  Condom,  though  the  oration  was 

*  She  died  of  cancer.  197 


198  OLD   PARIS 

not  published,  nor  at  that  time  had  any  of  his  ser- 
mons been  printed. 

After  the  queen-mother's  funeral,  the  king  left 
the  Tuileries  for  the  Chateau  of  St.  Germain, 
which  at  one  time  seemed  likely  to  become  his 
favourite  residence.  Versailles  could  not  vie  with 
it  in  beauty  of  situation,  and  its  hanging  gardens, 
which  Sir  Christopher  Wren  mentions  with  so 
much  admiration,  were  picturesque  as  the  grounds 
that  surrounded  it.  But  Versailles  had  the  advan- 
tage, in  Louis's  opinion,  of  being  at  a  greater  dis- 
tance from  Paris,  and  more  out  of  the  way  of  any 
possible  anciitc.  The  people  were  disappointed 
that  the  king  absented  himself  so  continually  from 
his  capital.  But  the  Fronde  and  the  indignities  of 
his  minority  were  never  forgotten  by  Louis  XIV., 
and  never  forgiven ;  and  he  now  rejected  Paris,  as 
the  Parisians  in  his  boyish  days  had  rejected  him. 
His  visits  were  always  short,  and  for  the  purpose, 
most  frequently,  of  humiliating  the  parliament  and 
annulling  the  ancient  privileges  of  that  assembly, 
in  which  the  refractory  spirit  of  the  Fronde  was 
not  yet  wholly  e.xtinguished. 

Louis's  fondness  for  walking  and  for  the  chase 
also  led  him  to  give  preference  to  a  residence 
where  such  habits  and  tastes  could  be  more  con- 
veniently followed  than  in  the  city.  Besides, 
should  he  too  frequently  be  seen  by  the  people, 
and  his  sacred  person  become  a  familiar  object  to 
the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  might  they  not  fail  to  re- 


LE    GRAND   MONARQUE  1 99 

gard  him  with  that  reverential  awe  it  was  his  aim 
to  inspire  in  all  classes  of  his  subjects  ?  He 
exacted  extraordinary  homage  from  all  who  ap- 
proached him  ;  and  they  who  enjoyed  that  supreme 
felicity,  found  it  to  their  interest  to  be  so  over- 
powered by  the  majesty  of  his  presence,  his  grand 
air,  and  solemn  pomposity,  that,  frequently,  they 
feigned  to  be  struck  dumb,  as  it  were,  before  him, 
or  at  best  only  able  to  address  him  with  "  bated 
breath  and  whispering  humbleness."  Had  he 
spat  upon  them,  there  were  many  among  his 
favourites  and  flatterers  so  grovelling  in  spirit 
that  they  would  have  humbly  thanked  him  for 
such  courtesy.  To  the  multitude  he  was  as  grand 
a  mystery  as  the  "  veiled  prophet ;  "  they  were 
dazzled  by  the  magnificence  and  splendour,  far 
surpassing  the  royal  state  of  any  of  his  prede- 
cessors, with  which  he  surrounded  himself  and 
screened  his  vices  from  vulgar  eyes. 

The  squabbles  of  Louis's  bevy  of  mistresses,  of 
whom  La  Valliere,  created  Duchess  de  Vaujour, 
was  then  ^^  Maitrcsse  en  tit  re,''  formed  another  rea- 
son for  removing  the  court  from  Paris.  He  would 
not  allow  the  brightness  of  his  glory  —  and  he  was 
anxious  to  keep  it  resplendently  bright  —  to  be 
dimmed  by  such  scandals  going  the  round  of  the 
salons,  and  becoming  the  subjects  of  songs  and 
epigrams  for  the  amusement  of  the  populace  and 
the  licentious  wits  of  the  day.  Even  the  vices 
of  the  sovereio:n  must  be  invested  with  an  air  of 


200  OLD    PARIS 

solemnity  and  grandeur,  and  varnished  over  with 
a  thick  coating  of  stately  politeness. 

Versailles  was  fast  growing  into  a  small  pro- 
vince, of  which  the  palace  was  the  capital ;  and 
the  king's  attachment  to  this  vast,  ill-designed 
edifice  grew  as  the  palace  increased  in  size,  as 
its  gardens,  lakes,  and  fountains  increased  in  extent 
and  number,  and  as  the  court  was  more  numer- 
ously attended.  Perrault  continued  working,  con 
amove,  at  the  grand  entrance/^f^rt'^  of  the  Louvre  ; 
but  the  new  pavilion  and  some  other  proposed 
additions  to  the  Tuileries  were  left  incomplete, 
all  hands  being  needed  for  Versailles.  In  1664 
the  number  of  persons  composing  the  court  was 
above  six  hundred,  exclusive  of  attendants,  and 
the  people  employed  in  arranging  the  izxicy  fetes. 
These ///f J-  were  intended  so  greatly  to  outvie  in 
splendour  the  still-talked-of  brilliant  festivities  of 
Vaux,  that  no  comparison  should  be  possible  with 
them.  They  were  given,  as  if  in  mockery  of  the 
misery  of  the  starving  people,  at  a  time  when  both 
the  capital  and  the  provinces  were  suffering  from 
one  of  those  terrible  visitations  of  famine  and 
sickness  so  frequent  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
In  1666  the  court  had  so  greatly  increased,  "an- 
cient frondeiirs  having  become  fins  courtisans" 
that  Versailles  had  to  accommodate,  or  in  some 
way  to  shelter,  nearly  a  thousand  persons. 

Towards  those  nobles,  and  their  families,  who 
had  taken  any  part  in  fomenting  the  troubles  of  the 


THE   SATIRIST  OF   THE   FRONDE  201 

Fronde,  in  Paris,  or  the  revolt  in  the  provinces, 
Louis  was  implacable.  Notwithstanding  the  am- 
nesty, if  they  desired  to  be  reinstated  in  his  favour 
they  must  show  it,  very  plainly;  by  the  most  hum- 
ble submissiveness,  and  a  readiness  at  all  times  to 
fall  down  and  worship  him,  and  to  lick  the  dust 
from  his  feet.  To  have  been  the  author  of  an 
epigram,  or  silly  jeii  d" esprit,  that  possibly  had 
raised  a  laugh  against  the  court,  was,  in  his  eyes, 
treason  of  no  light  kind.  But  so  open  was  he  to 
flattery  —  and  no  incense  could  be  too  strong  for 
him  —  that  the  crime  might  be  expiated  by  adula- 
tory sonnets,  heroic  odes,  or  pastorals  in  which, 
alluding  to  the  king  and  his  amours,  sentimental 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses  described  in  inflated 
verse  the  godlike  beauty  of  some  sylvan  Apollo, 
and  the  havoc  he  had  made  of  the  hearts  of  the 
languishing,  love-sick  Daphnes  and  Chloes,  who 
tended  their  flocks  on  the  same  hills. 

Pensions,  or  ^'gratifications,''  were  sure  to  fall 
into  the  lap  of  those  poets,  or  other  writers,  who 
could  mockingly  and  wittily  hold  up  to  laughter 
and  derision  "/«  vieille  societe  de  la  Fronde,"  or 
those  traces  of  it  that  were  supposed  still  to  sur- 
vive. Some  French  writers  *  have  considered  the 
plays  of  Moliere,  who,  of  all  the  poets  of  the  time, 
was  the  most  favoured  by  Louis  XIV.,  as  one  con- 
tinuous satire  on  the  period  of  the  Fronde,  and 
the  pretensions  of  the  Frondeurs.    "  Tons  ces  mar- 

*  Victor  Cousin,  J.  B.  Capefigue,  Roederer,  etc. 


202  OLD   PARIS 

quis  provinciaitx,  Rodomonts  dc  cast  els,  ne  sont-ils  pas 
Vamkre  critique  de  V esprit  provincial  qui  domijia 
r epoque  dc  la  Fronde  ?  Ces  ridicules  jet^s  sur  Ics 
bourgeois  qui  vculcut  s' clever  et  s'occuper  d'atctre 
chose  que  de  Icjir  menage  ;  ces  moqucries  sur  tout 
ce  qui  n  est  pas  le  cour,  n  est  ce  pas  un  service 
d'ecrivain  aux  gages  de  la  volonte  et  des  interets  de 
Louis  XIV.  f  "  "  C est  la  plume  politique  qjii  a  le 
mieux  compris  la  situation  de  la  couronne ;  les 
ennemis  qu'elle  avail  a  combat tre ;  les  moqucries 
qu'elle  avait  a  repandrc  et  a  semer^ 

Moliere's  allegorical  play,  "  La  Princesse 
d'Elide,"  and  the  farce  of  "  Le  Mariage  force," 
were  written  for  the /<f/r J-  of  1664;  and  the  first 
three  acts  of  *' Tartuffe "  were  played,  that  the 
king  might  give  his  opinion  of  the  comedy  before 
it  was  finished.  Had  it  been  condemnatory,  it  is 
probable  that  either  the  last  two  acts  would  not 
have  been  written,  or  the  play  not  produced 
during  Louis's  reign.  But  the  king  not  only  gave 
no  sign  of  disfavour,  but  the  great  honour  of  hav- 
ing the  Grand  Monarque  for  a  godfather  was 
conferred  on  the  dramatist's  child.  Moliere's 
unhappy  marriage  with  Armande  Gresinde  Bejart 
took  place  in  1666. 

The  post  of  court  fool  still  existed  when 
Moliere  wrote  "La  Princesse  d'Elide,"  and  what- 
ever allusions  the  play  may  have  contained  to 
other  matters,  this  remaining  appendage  of 
royalty  in  the  barbarous  ages  was  delicately  and 


THE   FETES   OF  1667  203 

skilfully  ridiculed.  It  was  made  to  appear  an 
anomaly,  in  a  court  where  strict  etiquette  and  "la 
grand  polite sse''  had  taken  the  place  of  noisy 
mirth,  coarse  jesting,  and  rough  manners.  But 
the  fool's  occupation  was  not  yet  entirely  gone. 
In  many  "great  houses,"  for  a  fool  to  form  part 
of  the  household  was  regarded  as  an  evidence  of 
ancient  lineage ;  as  the  recently  ennobled,  and  the 
wealthy  haute  bourgeoisie,  did  not  encumber  them- 
selves with  those  miserable  buffoons.  The  fool  of 
Louis  XIV.  had  belonged  to  the  Grand  Conde. 
The  Count  de  Grammont  said  of  him  that,  "  of  all 
the  fools  that  had  followed  that  prince,  L'Angeli 
(the  court  fool)  was  the  only  one  that  had  made 
his  fortune  by  it." 

The///^i-  of  1667  lasted  seven  days.  The  king 
spent  so  recklessly  on  their  preparation,  that  to 
provide  funds  for  furnishing  the  necessary  sup- 
plies for  the  war,  which  had  been  declared  against 
Spain — -ostensibly  to  enforce  the  rights  renounced 
by  Maria  Theresa  on  her  marriage,  but,  in  reality, 
to  afford  the  magnificent  Louis  an  opportunity  of 
presenting  himself  to  the  admiring  eyes  of  Europe 
as  the  centre  of  a  grand  military  spectacle — 
greatly  tried  the  financial  ability  of  Colbert. 
Lulli's  twenty-four,  and  twelve,  violins  were  in- 
cessantly occupied  in  the  ballets  viythologigues, 
allegoriqiies,  feeriqiies,  etc.,  danced  by  the  king, 
queen,  Madame,  Mademoiselle,  and  Monsieur,  and 
their  respective  courts.     Queen  Henriette  left  her 


204  OLD   PARIS 

charming  retreat  at  Ste.  Madeleine  de  Chaillot 
to  witness  their  performance,  and  was  seated  on  a 
dais  with  grandes  dames  et  seigneurs  grouped 
artistically  around  her.  Benserade  wrote  the 
verses  which,  between  the  dances,  were  recited  by 
Moliere's  troupe.  In  one  of  these  mythological 
ballets  the  king  represented  the  sun.  Benserade's 
address  to  that  luminary  was  as  follows : 

"  Je  doute  qu'on  le  prenne  avec  vous  sur  le  ton 

De  Daphne  ni  de  Phaeton; 
Lui  trop  ambitieux,  elle  trop  inhumaine; 
11  n'est  pa's  la  de  piege  ou  vous  puissiez  donner, 

Le  moyen  de  s'imaginer 
Qu'une  femme  vous  fuie,  et  qu'un  homme  vous  mene.'"' 

It  was  not  only  on  festive  occasions  that  Ver- 
sailles wore  an  air  of  grand  gala ;  it  was  its 
habitual  aspect.  The  gardens  were  already 
"fabulously  grand."  At  Vaux  nature  had  con- 
tributed, quite  as  much  as  art,  to  the  marvellous 
beauty  of  the  scene,  that  excited  so  much  angry 
jealousy  in  the  king.  At  Versailles  she  had  done 
nothing;  and  Louis's  pleasure  was  the  greater,  for 
he  imagined  it  to  be  the  unrivalled  creation  of  his 
own  genius.  Immense  waste  of  treasure,  reckless 
sacrifice  of  human  life,  the  skill  of  engineers,  and 
the  artistic  taste  of  Le  Notre  (all  to  be  repeated, 
and  in  a  few  years  exaggerated  at  Marly),  had, 
indeed,  transformed  a  barren  sand  -  heath  into 
a  flourishing  garden.     Under  the   able   direction 


VERSAILLES   LV   /TS    GLORY  205 

of  La  Ouintinie,  groves,  shrubberies,  and  shady 
avenues  were,  with  much  care  and  labour,  trans- 
planted from  the  woods  of  Compiegne  and  Fon- 
tainebleau ;  and  though  large  numbers  of  them 
languished  and  died  in  the  unfavourable  soil  of 
their  new  habitation,  their  places  were  immedi- 
ately refilled  from  the  same  storehouses  of  nature. 
Versailles,  with  its  palace,  its  gardens,  its  statues, 
and  waterworks,  Trianon,  and  appendages,  was  a 
work  of  art  to  gaze  upon  with  wonder — "to 
admire  and  flee  from." 

Yet,  on  a  bright  spring  day,  or  soft  summer 
evening,  when  Louis,  disposed  for  one  of  those 
long  promenades  he  was  accustomed  to  take, 
often  twice  in  the  day,  descended  to  the  gardens 
from  the  grand  entrance  of  the  palace,  followed 
by  his  numerous  court,  the  coup  d'oeil  from  a 
distance  must  have  been  charmingly  effective. 
The  gardens  were  admirably  adapted  for  such  a 
display ;  it  may  have  been  a  little  theatrical  — 
something  like  a  ''grand  tab/can "  in  a  fairy 
extravaganza  —  yet  very  attractive.  For  a  solitary 
ramble,  or  a  stroll  with  two  or  three  companions, 
those  broad  paths  were  repelling,  and  their  formal 
grandeur  depressing.  No  lover  of  the  beauties  of 
nature  would  have  cared  to  wander  through  them. 
But  when  enlivened  by  sauntering,  chatting,  flirt- 
ing, laughing  groups  of  picturesquely  and  richly 
dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court — a 
numerous    retinue  of   lackeys    following,  no   less 


206  OLD    PARIS 

resplendent  in  dress  than  their  masters  —  the 
admirable  fitness  of  the  gardens  and  grounds  of 
Versailles  for  the  purpose  which  Louis,  no  doubt, 
had  in  his  mind  when  the  designs  were  approved, 
must  have  been  very  striking. 

In  the  centre  of  this  throng  of  feathers  and 
swords,  satins  and  laces,  flashing  jewels,  fans  and 
masks,  solemnly  paced  the  magnificent  Louis, 
with  the  air  of  lord  of  the  universe,  monarch  of 
all  he  surveyed,  and  of  all  who  surveyed  him  — 
for  his  courtiers  lived  only  in  the  light  of  his 
countenance.  What  says  La  Bruyere,  writing  of 
the  court .-'  "  Whoever  considers  how  the  happi- 
ness of  the  courtier  lies  wholly  in  the  face  of  the 
prince,  that  he  makes  it  the  one  occupation  of 
his  life  to  look  on  it,  and  to  be  seen  by  it,  may,  in 
some  degree,  comprehend  how,  in  looking  on  the 
face  of  God,  consists  all  the  glory  and  happiness 
of  the  saint."  Yet  the  countenance  of  this  god 
usually  expressed  nothing  at  all ;  it  was  as  grandly 
cold,  serene,  and  unchangeable  as  that  of  any  of 
the  marble  deities  that  presided  over  his  foun- 
tains. 

It  was  no  mean  advantage  to  him  that  nature 
had  kindly  exalted  him,  at  least  three  inches, 
above  almost  every  other  man  of  his  court.  The 
French  were  not  generally  a  fine  race  of  men ; 
but  the  dress  of  the  period — the  high  heels,  the 
wig,  stiffened  and  frizzed  straight  up  above  the 
forehead,  the  lofty  plume  and   looped-up  broad- 


THE    COURT  AND    THE   SALONS  20/ 

brimmed  hat  —  gave  to  the  grandees  an  appear- 
ance of  height  which,  as  a  rule,  they  had  not. 
Above  them  towered  their  king,  Hke  Jupiter  in 
Olympus  in  the  midst  of  the  inferior  gods ;  or,  as 
the  sun,  with  the  lesser  lights  revolving  round 
him,  and  shining  only  in  the  refulgence  of  his 
rays.  And  something  of  their  glimmer  fell  on 
most  of  them ;  for,  as  has  been  observed,  it  is 
remarkable  what  a  likeness  the  courtiers  gener- 
ally bore  to  the  king,  and  what  a  strong  resem- 
blance the  portraits  of  that  period  have  to  each 
other.  It  is  probably  owing  to  the  form  of 
the  wig,  which  gave  to  all  faces  a  similarity  of 
contour. 

Walking  and  talking  formed  the  whole  of  the 
business  and  amusement  of  life  at  Versailles  in 
the  intervals  of  the  more  exciting  occupations 
afforded  by  the  fetes.  But  "  toute  la  France,''  as 
it  was  customary  to  say  when  speaking  of  the 
court  (the  people  being  counted  for  less  than 
nothing)  could  not  at  one  and  the  same  time  bask 
in  the  sunshine  of  the  royal  presence.  There 
remained,  however,  in  Paris,  for  the  solace  of 
those  who  rarely  visited  Versailles  —  either  from 
choice  or  because  their  welcome  there  did  not 
induce  a  more  assiduous  attendance  —  as  also  for 
others  who,  from  various  causes,  were  occasion- 
ally absent  from  that  enchanted  spot,  the  salons 
of  the  Hotels  d'Albret  and  de  Richelieu.  La 
Rochefoucauld  was  then  beginning  to  be  a  martyr 


208  or  J)    PARIS 

to  the  gout,  which,  of  course,  excluded  him  from 
the  royal  promenades ;  but  both  he  and  Madame 
de  La  Fayette  received  at  their  hotels,  in  the  Rue 
de  Seine,  a  distinguished  circle  of  the  beau  mondc 
and  gens  de  lettrcs.  There,  too,  we  often  meet 
with  Madame  de  Sevigne  and  her  daughter.  But 
except  a  little  lively  and  sarcastic  criticism  on  the 
news  of  the  day,  which,  of  course,  meant  court 
intrigues,  love  and  war,  the  amusement  of  their 
long  evenings  was  the  turning  and  re-turning, 
changing  the  form,  and  often  the  sense  of  two  or 
three  maxims.  Sometimes  they  were  proposed  in 
the  morning  by  Madame  de  Sable,  and  received 
in  the  evening  their  final  polish  and  keenness 
of  edge  from  La  Rochefoucauld.  Madame  de  Se- 
vigne has  acknowledged  that  their  point  was 
occasionally  so  fine  she  failed  to  perceive  it. 

Mademoiselle,  at  the  Luxembourg,  affected  lit- 
erary tastes,  also  Madame,  at  the  Palais  Royal. 
The  latter  had  received  even  less  education  than 
Mademoiselle,  and  she  had  not  the  same  force  of 
character;  her  reputation,  too,  was  far  from  un- 
blemished. But  she  was  young,  lively,  and  good- 
tempered,  and  an  immense  favourite  with  the 
king,  who  kept  up  a  secret  correspondence  with 
her.  This  correspondence  was  conducted  for 
them  by  the  Marquis  de  Dangeau,  they  being 
wholly  unaware  that  the  same  confidential  secre- 
tary acted  for  both.  It  was  a  secret  the.  marquis 
kept  to  himself,  and  profited  by ;  the  publication 
of  his  memoirs  revealed  it. 


L-APPAKTEMENT  DU  KOI  209 

Some  few  years  later,  priciosite  would  seem  to 
have  glided  into  the  salons  of  Versailles ;  for  we 
are  told  by  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  of  a  discus- 
sion occupying  a  whole  evening  there,  on  the 
difference  between  la  joie  and  r enjouement. 
Twice  a  week  a  numerous  company  assembled 
in  the  petit  salon,  the  trunion  being  called  "  I'ap- 
pancvient  dn  roi."  No  strict  etiquette  was  ob- 
served ;  for  though  the  king  was  present,  as  he 
was  not  supposed  to  be  holding  a  court,  it  was 
understood  that  he  imposed  no  restraint  on  the 
sociability  of  his  guests.  He  himself  walked 
about  among  them,  sans  ciremonie  —  now,  playing 
at  billiards  or  piquet ;  now,  conversing  with  his 
courtiers.  Sometimes  he  strolled  into  the  long 
gallery,  which  was  bordered  on  both  sides  by  rows 
of  orange  trees,  placed  in  boxes  of  elaborately 
chased  silver.  This  gallery  formed  a  sort  of 
luminous  avenue,  being  lighted  by  an  immense 
number  of  wax  candles,  in  lustres  of  rock  crystal. 

The  queen  sat  with  her  ladies  ;  the  princesses 
danced  with  each  other,  or  with  the  younger  ladies 
in  waiting,  no  cavalier  being  allowed  to  share  in 
this  pastime.  The  elders,  dispersed  about  the 
salons  in  groups,  either  took  their  seats  at  the 
card-tables,  of  which  there  were  several  prepared 
for  their  use,  or  discoursed  amongst  themselves  on 
subjects  that,  without  fear  of  evil  results,  might  be 
proclaimed  on  the  housetops  ;  for  all  were  aware 
that  every  fragment  of  conversation  was  carefully 


2IO  OLD   PARIS 

gathered  up,  to  be  reported  to  the  king,  and  often 
by  listeners  the  least  suspected. 

The  social  freedom  which  by  royal  condescen- 
sion was  supposed  to  prevail  at  these  receptions 
was,  therefore,  mere  fiction.  No  one  felt  at  his 
ease.  They  were  grand  and  stately,  but  not  social, 
reunions,  and  are  described  by  Mademoiselle  de 
Scudery  in  her  "Entretiens  sur  divers  Sujets,"  in 
illustration  of  the  subject  she  was  writing  upon  — 
"  La  Magnificence."  The  volume  was  dedicated 
to  Louis  XIV. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

Madame  Scarron.  —  Le  Marechal  d'Albret.  —  La  Marechale. — 
Monsieur  le  Marquis.  —  Mdlle.  de  Grand  Bois.  —  The  Hotel 
de  Richelieu.  —  The  Duke's  Portrait  Gallery.  —  An  Amiable 
•  Wife.  —  Les  Amants  declares.  —  L'Abbe  Testu.  —  The  Pets 
of  the  Salons.  —  L'Abbe  Scarron.  —  Madame  de  Montespan. 
—  The  Princess  de  Nemours.  —  Madame  Scarron 's  Pension 
restored. 

[aDAME  SCARRON'S  pension  of  two 
thousand  livres  had  ceased  to  be  paid 
since  the  death  of  the  queen-mother. 
From  that  time  she  had  sent  frequent  petitions  to 
the  king,  praying  for  its  renewal,  but  had  little 
reason  to  hope  that  her  prayer  would  be  granted. 
She  was  reduced  almost  to  entire  dependence  on 
her  friends  and  relatives,  and  the  latter  were  by  no 
means  rich  ;  her  brother  was,  indeed,  a  worthless 
spendthrift,  and  the  cause  of  much  trouble  and 
anxiety  to  his  sister.  A  part  of  her  time  she 
passed  in  the  country  with  the  Duchess  de  Mont- 
chevreuil.  In  Paris,  the  Hotels  d'Albret  and  de 
Richelieu  were  by  turns  her  abode.  The  proffered 
hospitality  of  Ninon  she  declined,  so  far  as  making 
her  house  her  home ;  but  she  was  a  frequent  visi- 
tor there,  remaining  for  days  together  —  the  great 


212  OLD   PARIS 

intimacy  and  friendship   existing   between    them 
being  evident  from  Madame  Scarron's  letters. 

Both  the  Marechal  d'Albret  and  the  Due  de 
RicheHeu  had  been  friends  of  Scarron,  and  were 
constantly  met  with  amongst  the  gay  and  distin- 
guished, if  rather  \t<y\sX.Qxo\x?,,  jeunesse  doree,  who 
delighted  in  the  society  and  licentious  wit  of  the 
poor  crippled  poet.  The  marechal  was  a  wealthy 
and  dissipated  man  of  pleasure — a  Gascon  of  the 
Bearnais  family  of  Henri  d'Albret.  In  165 1  he 
killed  in  a  duel  the  Marquis  de  Sevigne,  who  had 
supplanted  him  in  the  good  graces  of  a  certain 
Madame  Gondran.  He  was  one  of  the  many 
lovers  of  Madame  Scarron,  according  to  the  as- 
sertion of  those  who  represent  her  as  vicious  and 
artful,  and  destitute  of  moral  principles.  She  was 
cold  and  calculating,  no  doubt ;  but  as  her  aim 
was  to  acquire  consideration  and  a  position  in  so- 
ciety, it  is  not  likely  that  so  clever  a  woman  would 
compromise  herself  by  accepting  the  attentions  of 
such  a  man  as  the  marechal  otherwise  than  as  a 
friend.  And  a  friend  he  appears  to  have  been  ; 
for  he  introduced  her  to  his  wife,  a  woman  of  high 
character,  though  considered,  in  those  days  of  lax 
morality,  severe  and  prudish.  Madame  d'Albret 
received  the  young  widow  with  much  kindness, 
and  would  have  had  her  reside  constantly  with 
her  ;  but  Madame  Scarron  was  desirous  of  remain- 
ing, as  far  as  possible,  free  and  independent.  As 
she  was  a  skilful  embroideress,  she  was  able  to  do 


LA    MARECHALE  213 

SO,  the  visits  she  paid  to  her  wealthy  friends  en- 
abhng  her  to  economize  in  the  expenses  of  her 
humble  menage. 

She  endeavoured  to  please  in  order  to  secure 
friends,  and  generally  she  was  considered  amiable 
and  agreeable,  and  a  desirable  acquisition  to 
Madame  d'Albret's  social  circle.  Her  dress, 
though  of  inexpensive  material,  was  always  well 
made,  graceful,  and  becoming.  Her  modesty  in 
this  respect  was  of  course  much  approved  by  the 
ladies.  "  She  did  not  dress  beyond  her  means  or 
her  station,"  which  they  accepted  as  a  proof  that 
she  had  no  desire  to  rival  or  outshine  them ;  they 
pardoned  her,  therefore,  her  fine  figure  and  brill- 
iant black  eyes,  which  appear  to  have  been  her 
chief  personal  attractions.  She,  however,  soon 
won  the  admiration  of  a  wealthy  man  of  quality, 
who  made  her  the  offer  of  his  hand  and  fortune. 
To  the  immense  astonishment  of  her  friends,  she 
refused  him.  Even  Madame  d'Albret  was  amazed 
that  she  had  no  other  reason  to  give  for  declining 
the  honour  of  becoming  Madame  la  Marquise 
than  that  M.  le  Marquis  was  a  man  of  notoriously 
dissipated  life.  Madame  Scarron's  letter  on  this 
subject  to  her  friend  Ninon,  contrasting  \)i\q.  grand 
seigneur  with  poor  Scarron,  of  whom  she  speaks 
in  the  highest  terms,  is  a  most  pleasing  one.  It 
leaves  on  the  mind  a  very  favourable  impression 
both  of  the  writer  and  the  witty  and  satirical  but 
kindly  natured  poet.      One  regrets  that  it  should 


214  OLD   PARIS 

afterwards  have  been  shame  and  confusion  to  her 
to  hear  him  named,  though  in  the  presence  of  the 
magnificent  Louis. 

Madame  Scarron  was  also  a  welcome  visitor  at 
the  Hotel  de  Richelieu.  Though  somewhat  re- 
served {par  politique),  it  was  evident,  from  her 
occasional  remarks,  that  she  was  not  wanting  in 
esprit.  She  had  been  unusually  well  educated ; 
had  read  extensively  ;  and  had  much  knowledge 
of  the  world.  The  vicissitudes  of  her  life,  from 
her  earliest  years,  gave  a  tinge  of  romance  to  her 
history,  and  drew  attention  to  her  personally; 
which,  at  first,  was  not  without  its  influence  in 
opening  the  way  to  the  attainment  of  that  "  con- 
sideration "  she  was  ever  striving  after  and  seeking 
to  extend. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  de  Richelieu  were  rather 
an  extraordinary  couple.  The  duke  was  the  heir 
of  the  great  cardinal  ;  dignity  upon  dignity  had 
been  heaped  upon  him  ;  he  had  been  regarded  as 
one  of  the  first  partis  in  the  kingdom,  and  several 
of  those  great  families  ^^  en  velours  rouge  cramoisi'' 
—  as  Madame  de  Sevigne  says  —  had  sought  his 
alliance.  But  the  duke  was  steeped  in  vanity.  He 
admired  himself,  as  a  handsome  man,  a  man  of  fine 
intellect,  a  man  of  high  character  —  nn  preux  chev- 
alier. A  Mademoiselle  de  Grand  Bois,  a  lady  pos- 
sessed of  neither  fortune  nor  beauty,  and  who  was 
also  many  years  the  duke's  senior,  contrived  to 
carry  off  this  great  matrimonial  prize.     She  is  said 


THE   hOTEL   DE  RICHELIEU  21$ 

to  have  had  more  savoir  faire  than  esprit,  and  to 
have  so  flattered  the  duke  and  praised  his  great 
qualities,  that  she  convinced  him  she  had  as  high 
an  opinion  of  him  as  he  had  of  himself.  This  en- 
dowed her,  in  his  eyes,  with  merit  far  outweighing 
fortune  and  beauty.  Her  greatest  difficulty  lay  in 
securing  him  when  she  had  caught  him ;  in  keeping 
him  in  the  mind  to  marry  until  he  was  actually 
married,  for  he  was  accustomed  to  take  violent 
likings  and  dislikings,  passing  from  one  emotion 
to  the  other  with  extraordinary  suddenness.  But 
Mademoiselle  de  Grand  Bois,  in  spite  of  this  fickle- 
ness of  disposition,  succeeded  in  becoming  the 
Duchesse  de  Richelieu. 

Being  of  an  easy,  kindly  temper,  she  bore  with 
all  her  duke's  caprices,  continued  to  administer 
doses  of  flattery  with  an  unsparing  hand,  and  was 
very  forbearing  to  his  numerous  weaknesses.  Both, 
however,  had  a  predilection  for  the  society  of  les 
gens  de  lettrcs  et  Ics  gens  d' esprit,  and  twice, 
weekly,  received  at  their  hotel  a  very  brilliant  and 
distinguished  circle.  There  might  be  met  the 
wittiest  women  in  Parisian  society — Madame  de 
Cornuel,  of  whom  even  her  confessor  said,  "  Every 
sin  she  confessed  was  an  epigram  "  ;  Madame  de 
Coulanges,  whose  reputation  for  esprit  was  second 
only  to  Madame  de  Cornuel's ;  Madame  de  Sevigne, 
Mademoiselle  de  Scudery,  Madame  de  La  Fayette, 
and  the  Countess  de  la  Suze  —  who  wrote  elegies, 
greatly  admired  in  those  days  —  were  all  constant 


2l6  OLD  PARIS 

frequenters  of  the  salons  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
de  Richelieu,  together  with  a  throng  of  other  celeb- 
rities —  poets,  litterateurs,  and  gens  de  la  conr. 

In  X\iQ.  gre7iiers,  or  lofts,  of  the  Hotel  de  Riche- 
lieu, there  were  lying  about,  pele-mele,  numberless 
dusty  pictures  —  soiled,  torn,  and  evidently  little 
valued  by  their  owner.  They  were  the  portraits 
of  a  long  line,  not  of  ancestors,  but  of  forgotten 
friends  —  friends  once  esteemed,  honoured,  loved; 
now,  faded,  blotted  out  altogether  from  the  mem- 
ory of  the  fickle  duke,  and  their  places  filled  up  by 
new  ones.  It  was  his  custom,  when  a  friendship 
suddenly  seized  him  for  any  one  newly  introduced 
at  his  hotel,  or  whose  merits,  after  long  acquaint- 
ance, unexpectedly  dawned  upon  him,  to  be  very 
urgent  in  requesting  to  be  favoured  with  the  por- 
trait of  this  estimable  individual.  Unfortunately, 
the  benighted  world  knew  not  then  of  cartes-de- 
visite  and  album  portraits,  or  the  duke  —  as  people 
do  now — might  have  filled  his  portrait  albums, 
instead  of  his  greniers,  with  friendship's  offerings 
and  the  notorieties  of  the  day.  Few,  if  any,  de- 
clined to  humour  his  whim,  and  generally  they  sat 
to  the  duke's  portrait-painter — for  he  was  a  patron 
of  the  arts,  and  his  friendships  kept  his  proteges 
busily  employed. 

When  the  coveted  treasure  was  brought  to  him 
—  if  the  warmth  of  his  friendship  had  experienced 
no  abatement  —  the  portrait  was  fixed  at  the  head 
of  his  bed,  or  on  the  wall  opposite  to  it.     There  it 


AN  AMIABLE    WIFE  21/ 

remained  until  it  had  to  give  place  to  a  newer,  if 
not  more  worthy  or  deserving,  friend.  These  por- 
traits were  hung  in  a  line  round  his  room,  and 
whenever  a  new  one  came  in,  the  others  had  to 
move  on,  that  nearest  the  door  going  into  the  ante- 
room, where  the  same  rule  was  followed  —  the  por- 
trait that  had  there  reached  the  door  being  borne 
aloft  to  the  grenicr — the  tomb  of  the  Capulets, 
where  lay  the  buried  friendships  of  the  duke. 

According  to  the  fashion  of  the  day,  the  duke 
was  addicted  to  gambling.  His  losses  were  enor- 
mous, and  poor  Madame  de  Richelieu  trembled  as 
she  saw  him  rushing  headlong  to  ruin.  But  on  no 
account  would  she  allow  him  to  perceive  her  emo- 
tion. His  self-complacency  must  not  be  ruffled. 
The  shock  to  his  feelings  would  be  too  severe  should 
he  discover  that  she  thought  he  could  err,  or  that 
in  any  respect  he  fell  short  of  perfection.  So  estate 
after  estate  was  gambled  away,  while  his  duchess 
smiled  sweetly  upon  him. 

The  ladies  of  the  Hotel  de  Richelieu  imitated 
those  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet  in  having  each 
her  ^^ galant  et  honnete  homine,''  but  with  this 
difference,  he  was  called  '^soti  amant  declare,'' 
whether  the  lady  was  married  or  not.  The  per- 
fect propriety  of  it  was  signified  in  the  word 
dklare,  which  meant  that  his  attentions  were 
publicly  paid  and  received.  There  was  no  mys- 
tery, no  attempt  at  concealment ;  therefore, 
though     constantly     attended     by    her     ''amant 


2l8  OLD   PARIS 

declare,''  her  husband  could  make  no  objection  to 
the  arrangement  and  her  reputation  in  no  degree 
suffer.  The  Cardinal  d'Etrees  was  the  ^' amant 
declare''  of  Madame  Scarron.  '' II  plaisait  son 
esprit  sails  toiicJicr  son  ccenr,"  Madame  de  Caylus 
informs  us  ;  and  she  probably  received  the  infor- 
mation from  her  aunt,  as  she  herself  at  that  time 
was  not  born. 

Another  ecclesiastic,  I'Abbe  Testu,  was  the 
"amant  declare"  of  the  duchess.  He  also  af- 
fected to  assume  at  the  Hotel  de  Richelieu  the 
post  filled  by  Voiture  at  Rambouillet.  But  he 
had  neither  the  wit,  the  animal  spirits,  nor  the 
epigrammatic  talent  that  gained  Voiture  his  repu- 
tation and  the  epithet  of  ''bel  esprit."  The  abbi 
was  also  a  favoured  dangler  of  Madame  de 
Coulanges,  and  several  other  ladies,  to  whom  he 
addressed  his  frivolous  sentimentalities  in  rhymes. 
He  was  never  so  happy  as  when,  without  any 
competitor  at  hand  for  the  smiles  of  the  bean  sexe, 
he  shone,  alone  in  his  glory,  the  centre  of  a  circle 
of  fair  dames,  who  all  lavished  their  smiles  upon 
him.  But,  as  they  were  witty  or  simple — some 
laughed  at  him  under  the  rose,  maliciously  encour- 
aging him  in  his  fond  belief  that  he  was  the  most 
brilliant  of  men ;  while  others  were  really  im- 
pressed by  his  marvellous  powers  of  rapidly  pro- 
ducing impromptu  after  impromptu  on  diamond 
eyes  and  coral  lips,  jet  black  and  golden  hair. 

But,   like    Voiture,    the   abbe   had    studied    his 


VABBE    TESTU  219 

impromptus  at  home,  for  spontaneous  utterance 
in  society  as  opportunity  could  be  made  or  found. 
There  was,  however,  this  difference  between 
them :  that,  of  the  sparkhng  wit  that  animated  the 
brilliant  bagatelles  of  the  famous  bel  esprit,  not  a 
glimmer  could  be  traced  in  the  rhymed  nothings 
which  the  fashionable  abbe  inflicted  on  his  audi- 
tors. Perhaps  the  ladies  were  grateful  for  his 
attempts  to  be  pointedly  pretty  when  paying  them 
compliments.  They  took  the  will  for  the  deed, 
and,  to  reward  him,  prayed  the  king  to  bestow  a 
bishopric  upon  him.  But  the  sublime  Louis  gave 
no  heed  to  their  solicitations.  On  one  occasion, 
to  mark  his  deep  displeasure  at  the  frivolous  flirt- 
ing propensities  of  this  butterfly  abbe,  he  replied 
to  Madame  d'Heudicourt,  who  was  extolling  his 
learning,  his  wit,  and  his  many  excellent  qualities, 
^^ que  V Abbe  Testit-  n  etait  pas  assez  honime  de  bien 
pour  coiidiiire  les  aiitres.''  ''II  attend  poiir  le 
devenir^  answered  madame,  "  q2ie  votre  majeste 
Fait  fait  eveqiiey  But  I'Abbe  Testu  waited  in 
vain  for  a  bishopric,  and,  like  the  Abbe  Cotin, 
whom  in  character  he  much  resembled,  remained 
an  abbe  to  the  end  of  his  days. 

But  for  Boileau,  Moliere,  and  Madame  de 
Sevigne,  these  abbes  would  have  been  as  little 
known  to  posterity  as  many  others  who  fluttered 
as  ladies'  pets  in  the  salons  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  Trh  galajits  homnies  for  the  most  part 
they  were  —  polished  in  manners,  very  good  look- 


220  OLD   PARIS 

ing,  hair  and  moustache  always  carefully  arranged. 
The  soutane  conferred  many  privileges  on  the 
harmless,  useful  abhe.  Often  he  amused  a  circle 
of  ladies  by  reading  a  play  or  romance,  while  they 
were  engaged  with  their  embroidery  or  lace.  He 
was  usually  clever  at  bojits  rimes  and  vers  de 
society.  Many  of  the  younger  abbes,  since  music 
had  come  into  fashion,  could  strum  a  guitar ;  if 
they  did  not  themselves  sing  Ouinault's  tender 
ditties,  they  could  accompany  any  lady  that  did. 
Then  the  dress  —  sober,  and  severely  innocent  of 
ribands  and  lace,  strongly  contrasting  with  that 
of  the  gay  cavaliers,  yet  not  unbecoming.  The 
presence  of  a  distinguished-looking  abbe  seemed 
to  sanctify  any  boudoir  of  which  he  had  the  privi- 
lege of  the  entree,  and  to  impart  a  sonpcoji  of 
graceful  piety  to  the  occupations  of  the  party  of 
fair  dames  who  in  the  morning  frequently  assem- 
bled there. 

Probably  the  wittiest  of  all  the  abbe's  was  the 
Abbe  Scarron ;  and,  had  Richelieu  lived,  a  Jeit- 
de-mots  might,  as  had  happened  more  than  once 
before,  have  procured  him  a  bishopric.  Scarron, 
however,  from  his  infirmities,  was  the  delight  of 
no  salon  but  his  own.  But  he  had  the  gallantry 
to  throw  off  the  clerical  character,  which  sat  so 
lightly  upon  him,  for  the  sake  of  Frangoise 
d'Aubigne,  It  is  a  question  whether  he  would, 
even  for  her  beaux  yeus,  have  thrown  up  a 
bishopric  and  prayed  to  be  secularized.     It  is  well 


MADAME   DE  MONTESPAN  221 

that  he  was  not  thus  tempted;  for  there  would 
have  been  no  Madame  Scarron,  no  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  and  Louis  no  saint  in  his  latter  days, 
though  inclined,  by  anticipation,  to  be  a  Latter- 
day  saint. 

The  Marquis  de  Montespan  was  nearly  related 
to  the  Marechal  d'Albret,  and  he  and  the  mar- 
quise were  constant  frequenters  both  of  the  Hotel 
d'Albret  and  the  Hotel  de  Richelieu.  Madame 
de  Montespan  was  no  less  spiritiielle  than  beauti- 
ful. She  and  her  sisters  were  celebrated  for  a 
peculiarly  piquant  turn  of  thought,  expressed  with 
much  grace  and  originality,  called  ^'V esprit  des 
Mortemar,"  because  hereditary  in  their  family. 
Her  brother,  the  Marechal  de  Vivonne,  was  famed 
for  his  bons  mots.  Her  conversation  was  lively 
and  agreeable,  but  generally  a  little  sarcastic. 
Court  scandal  was  a  favourite  topic  with  Madame 
de  Montespan.  The  ill-concealed  intrigues  of 
Madame  and  the  king;  the  jealousy  of  La  Val- 
liere;  the  timid  anxiety  with  which  the  queen 
often  glanced  at  her  faithless  spouse  when  he 
seemed  to  be  complacently  admiring  some  newly- 
presented  young  beauty,  all  provoked  her  keenest 
ridicule.  Of  La  Valliere  she  spoke  with  cutting 
contempt,  and  her  position,  of  recognized  mistress 
of  the  king,  she  professed  to  regard  as  degrading. 
Yet,  already,  1668,  she  must  have  contemplated 
the  possibility  of  succeeding  to  that  distinguished 
post ;   for  she  entreated  her  husband  to  remove 


2  22  OLD   PAA'/S 

her  to  Guienne,  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  the 
pursuit  of  the  king.  But  he,  not  regarding  the 
danger  as  so  imminent,  and  having  a  blind  con- 
fidence in  her,  failed  to  give  much  heed  to  the 
warning. 

Her  satirical  portraits  amused  the  social  circle, 
and  all  laughed  with  her  at  the  peculiarities  and 
failings  of  their  absent  friends  so  wittily  placed 
before  them  in  a  new,  if  distorting,  light ;  though 
well  aware  that  none  were  spared  by  her,  and  that 
they  might,  themselves,  be  the  next  objects  of  her 
fine  raillerie.  Madame  Scarron,  observant  and 
reflective,  may  thus  have  become  well  acquainted 
with  the  true  character  of  the  woman  who  after- 
wards ruled  the  king  and  his  court  so  imperiously, 
treated  the  queen  with  extreme  Jiaiitciir,  and  the 
ministers  as  creatures  appointed  to  obey  her 
behests,  but  whom  the  clever  and  designing,  and 
discreetly  humble  widow,  made  the  stepping-stone 
to  her  own  elevation. 

An  event,  however,  occurred  about  this  time 
which  seemed  likely  to  remove  Madame  Scarron 
permanently  from  France.  It  was  the  marriage 
of  the  Princess  Maria,  daughter  of  the  Due  de 
Nemours,  with  Affonso  VI.,  King  of  Portugal. 
The  Cardinal  d'Etrees  was  the  chief  ecclesiastic 
commissioned  to  conduct  the  young  lady  to  Lis- 
bon. Ladies-in-waiting  were  appointed,  though  it 
appeared  none  particularly  desired  that  honour — 
for,  to  leave  the  court  of  France  for  the  Portu- 


MADAME   SC AKRON'S  PENSION  223 

guese  court,  was  looked  upon  as  banishment  from 
the  world  and  its  pleasures.  A  lady  in  quality  of 
companionable  attendant  was,  therefore,  sought 
for,  and  Cardinal  d'Etrees  immediately  bethought 
him  of  the  widow  Scarron,  who  was  not  wholly 
unknown  to  the  princess.  She  approved  of  the 
cardinal's  suggestion,  and  advantageous  pecuniary 
offers  being  made  to  Madame  Scarron,  she  ac- 
cepted the  engagement  proposed  to  her.  But 
fate  willed  that  Madame  de  Montespan,  who  — 
though  not  yet  quite  openly,  for  her  husband  was 
for  a  time  an  obstacle  to  her  advancement  —  had 
made  considerable  progress  in  the  favour  of  the 
king,  should  present  another  petition  for  the 
renewal  of  the  widow's  pension,  and  also  speak  a 
good  word  in  support  of  it.  At  the  solicitation 
of  the  marquise,  the  pension  was  granted,  and  her 
future  rival  immediately  resigned  her  Portuguese 
appointment. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Death  of  Henriette  de  France.  —  The  Funeral  Oration.  —  The 
Crime  of  Heresy.  —  Conquest  of  Flanders.  —  Fetes  at  St. 
Germain.  —  Siege  of  Dole.  —  Peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle. — 
The  Phlegmatic  Dutch  Envoy. 

jNE  of  the  grandest  of  the  grandly  elo- 
quent funeral  orations  of  the  great 
Bossuet  was  that  on  the  queen  of 
Charles  I.,  Henriette  de  France,  who  died  in 
1669.  The  misfortunes  of  the  queen,  the  fate 
of  her  husband,  the  rebellious  people,  and  the 
"usurper,"  formed  a  theme,  which,  worked  up  by 
the  immense  oratorical  power  of  this  "  thunderer 
of  the  Church,"  produced  a  striking  effect  on  his 
auditors.  The  heretical  nation  setting  at  defiance 
the  right  divine  of  kings,  and  slaying  "  the  Lord's 
anointed;"  "the  scorner,  sitting  in  his  seat;" 
the  altars  of  God  defiled;  the  loving  wife,  flying 
with  her  children  for  safety  to  the  home  of  her 
youth  —  a  foreign  land  to  them;  the  pious  resig- 
nation of  the  unfortunate  queen ;  the  death  of  the 
usurper;  the  repentance  of  the  nation  and  recall 
of  the  exiled  prince  to  the  throne  of  his  ancestors, 
were  incidents   that  made   up    a   perfect    drama. 

224 


THE   FUNERAL    ORATION  22  5 

And  thrilling  emotion  they  excited,  as  depicted  by 
an  orator  who  had  the  art  of  seizing  all  the  re- 
sources of  his  subject,  and  who,  varying  his  style 
with  the  varying  sensations  he  sought  to  produce, 
was  by  turns  grandly  energetic,  sublime,  tender, 
pathetic. 

The  death  of  Queen  Henriette  caused  little  in- 
terruption to  the  dissipations  of  the  court.  She 
had  rarely  appeared  there  of  late,  having  preferred, 
since  the  marriage  of  her  daughter,  to  reside 
almost  constantly  at  the  convent  of  Ste.  Madeleine 
de  Chaillot,  of  which  La  Mere  Angelique  (Mad- 
emoiselle de  La  Fayette,  to  whom  Louis  XIIL 
was  so  romantically  attached)  was  the  abbess.  A 
great  friendship  had  existed  between  them  from 
girlhood.  Few  people  now  remembered  Louis 
XIIL,  and  those  few  had  no  respect  for  his  mem- 
ory ;  the  strong  affection  these  two  women  still 
bore  him  was  therefore  another  bond  of  sympathy 
between  them.  The  convent,  too,  was  a  pleasant 
retreat,  beautiful  in  its  situation,  with  charming 
grounds  and  gardens,  of  great  extent.  And, 
there,  Henriette,  who  cared  naught  for  the  world 
or  its  pleasures,  after  Charles  had  perished  on  the 
scaffold,  peacefully  spent  the  last  years  of  her  life, 
disturbed,  perhaps,  now  and  then  by  the  whispers 
that  reached  her  of  the  dissipations  and  intrigues 
of  her  daughter,  and  the  dissolute  life  and  sur- 
roundings of  her  son,  Charles  II.  She  was  fast 
fading    from    the    memory   of    the    Parisian    beau 


226  OLD  PARIS 

monde  when  her  death  was  announced.  M.  de 
Condom  —  as  Bossuet  was  then  called  —  revived  a 
temporary  interest  in  her  chequered  career.  He 
had  surpassed  himself  in  this  funeral  oration ;  he 
had  dwelt  forcibly  on  the  crime  of  heresy,  and  so 
long  as  there  remained  in  the  memory  of  his  audi- 
tors any  lingering  echo  of  his  eloquent  words,  they 
would  exclaim  :  "  Ah !  quelle  etait  malJieiireiise 
cette  paiivre  reine  !  Dieii  !  quel  sort !  d' spouse r 
uu  roi  Huguenot ;  de  vivre  parnti  ces  heretiques 
insulaires ;  une  nation  abandonnee  de  Dieu.  Mais 
la  sainte  Vierge  a  beaucoup  priee  pour  elle,  et  elle 
a  eu  du  temps  pour  s  occuper  de  soji  salut.  Dieu 
soit  lotie  r^ 

Now  the  scene  changes.  The  talk  is  of  war, 
and  the  rumour  is  rife  that  the  king  will  make  the 
campaign. 

The  king  had  already  added  to  the  glory  that 
covered  him  that  of  the  fame  of  a  warrior.  In 
1667  he  had  looked  on,  at  a  safe  distance,  while 
Marechals  Turenne  and  Luxembourg  took  posses- 
sion of  Flanders.  And  this  conquest  was  made 
not  by  force  of  arms,  but  by  treaty  with  the  Em- 
peror Leopold  L  (who  had  been  assisted  by  a  few 
French  troops  in  warding  off  the  attacks  of  the 
warlike  and  formidable  Turks,  under  Mahomet 
IV.),  that  no  opposition  should  be  offered  to 
France  in  the  appropriation  of  that  province, 
which  belonged  to  Spain,  whose  monarch,  then  a 
child,  was   the   feeble-minded   Charles   II.     The . 


FETES  AT  ST.    GERM  A /N  22/ 

towns  were  all  open  places,  with  garrisons  of  a  few 
hundred  Spaniards,  and  the  victorious  generals 
had  but  to  walk  into  them  to  make  them  their 
own.  The  difficulty  was  to  retain  possession  of 
them.  Louvois  advised  the  adoption  of  Vauban's 
new  system  of  military  fortification,  of  which  Lille 
was  the  first  example,  and  Vauban  the  first  gov- 
ernor of  the  citadel. 

.  Louis,  after  this  military  promenade,  returned 
to  his  capital,  to  give  brilliant ///ri-  in  his  own  hon- 
our, and  to  receive  the  due  reward  of  his  great 
achievements  —  the  acclamations  of  his  loyal  sub- 
jects, the  unbounded  applause  of  his  courtiers, 
and  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  his  mistresses. 
St.  Germain  —  which  still  divided  with  Versailles 
the  honour  of  givmg  fetes  on  a  grand  scale  —  was 
the  scene  of  endless  festivities,  when,  in  the  fol- 
lowing year,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  court,  the 
king  again  set  out  for  the  wars,  accompanied  by 
the  young  Due  d'Enghien,  son  of  the  Grand 
Conde.  Secretly,  preparations  had  been  made  for 
taking  possession  of  La  Franche  Comte.  Jealous 
of  the  reputation  of  Turenne,  and  of  his  increased 
favour  with  the  king  —  since  he  had  abjured  the 
errors  of  Protestantism  to  embrace  those  of  Cathol- 
icism—  Conde  desired  to  share  in  the  dangers 
and  glory  of  their  expedition,  which  was,  indeed, 
but  another  "  vejii,  vidi,  vict'  affair.  Secret  in- 
trigues with  the  governors  of  towns,  substantial 
bribes,  and   twenty  thousand   men    in  the    back- 


228  OLD   PARIS 

ground,  more  than  sufficed  for  the  conquest  of  the 
province. 

At  the  approach  of  Conde  and  Luxembourg, 
Besan^on  and  Salins  surrender.  The  news  is 
brought  to  Louis,  and  instantly  he  leaves  St.  Ger- 
main to  share  in  the  glory  of  these  hard-earned 
victories.  Dole  actually  resists !  The  governor 
has  a  garrison  of  four  hundred  men,  and  con- 
ceives it  to  be  his  duty  to  make  a  stand,  even 
against  the  conquering  hosts  of  the  Great  Conde. 
The  king,  too,  considers  this  an  appropriate  occa- 
sion for  displaying  his  valour.  He  will  besiege 
Dole  in  person.  His  tents,  accordingly,  are  pitched 
some  two  or  three  miles  away ;  and  there,  sur- 
rounded by  all  the  ceremonial  of  St.  Germain,  in 
miniature,  he  awaits  the  reports  of  Conde,  and 
learns  from  him  in  person,  from  hour  to  hour,  how 
this  perilous  attack  is  proceeding.  "  O71  ne  lui 
voyait  point,''  says  Voltaire  with  amusing  irony, 
"  dans  les  travaitx  de  la  guerre,  ce  courage  emporte 
de  Frangois  I.  ct  de  Henri  IV.  qni  cJicrcJiaient 
toutes  les  cspeces  de  dangers.  II  se  contentait  de 
ne  les  pas  craindre  et  d' engager  tout  le  inonde  a 
s")'  precipiter  ponr  lid  avec  ardeur.''  And  this 
proved  his  superior  wisdom.  Like  those  great 
monarchs,  he  sought  "the  bubble  reputation,"  and 
obtained  it ;  but  he  kept  carefully  out  of  the  way 
of  the  perils  of  the  cannon's  mouth.  Consequently, 
when  Dole  was  taken  —  and  it  could  not  of  course 
hold  out  long  —  Louis,  with  great  parade  as  a  con- 


PEACE    OF  AIX-LA-CITAPELLE  229 

qiiering  hero,  entered  the  town,  and,  within  twelve 
days  from  his  departure  from  St.  Germain,  with 
the  connivance  of  the  emperor,  the  young  king  of 
Spain  was  robbed  of  another  province. 

Other  nations  now  thought  it  time  to  begin  to 
assemble  troops,  and  the  emperor,  repenting  of  his 
treaty  with  Louis,  secretly  encouraged  Holland  to 
enter  into  alliance  with  Sweden  and  England,  in 
order  to  check  this  sort  of  warfare  on  the  part  of 
Fi-ance,  and  to  preserve  the  balance  of  power  in 
Europe.  That  such  a  little  upstart  state  as  Hol- 
land should  have  the  audacity  to  think  of  limiting 
his  conquests,  excited,  not  unnaturally,  the  wrath 
of  the  great  soldier.  But  Spain  had  turned  to  her 
and  sought  her  interference ;  and  this  wounded 
his  pride  still  more.  He  was  overwhelmed  with 
indignation,  and,  in  his  heart,  vowed  to  be  avenged, 
but  perceived  that  it  would  be  well  to  defer  the 
chastisement  of  the  little  state  until  prepared  to 
inflict  it  with  eclat.  To  save  himself,  therefore, 
from  the  further  indignity  of  being  forced  into  a 
peace  by  Holland  and  her  allies,  he  hastened  to 
propose  it  himself  to  Spain.  Aix-la-Chapelle  was 
the  place  chosen  for  the  plenipotentiaries  to  assem- 
ble in  conference  ;  but  the  terms  of  the  peace 
were  actually  settled  at  St.  Germain,  between 
Van-Beuning,  the  burgomaster  of  Amsterdam,  and 
the  minister  Lyonne.  The  Dutch  envoy  treated 
with  equal  indifference  the  splendours  of  the 
French  court,  the  haughty  airs  and  tone  of  supe- 


230  OLD   PARIS 

riority  assumed  by  the  ministers  appointed  to 
confer  with  him,  and  the  imperious  manners  of 
the  Grand  Monarque,  who  —  though  unwilling  to 
surrender  any  part  of  his  conquests  —  was  com- 
pelled to  restore  La  Franche  Comte. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

A  Royal  Progress.  —  Mdlle.  de  Montpensier.  —  The  Count  de 
Lauzun.  —  The  King's  Historiographer.  —  A  Numerous  Ret- 
inue.—  The  Three  Queens.  —  Preparing  to  Invade  Hol- 
land. —  A  Windfall  for  Charles.  —  La  Belle  Bretonne.  —  La 
Valliere's  Star  Setting.  —  Monsieur  again  Jealous.  —  Death 
■    of  Madame.  —  Its  Cause  doubtful. 

IE  GRAND  MONARQUE  has  set  out, 
ostensibly,  on  a  royal  progress  through 
La  Flandre  Fran9aise  —  the  name  then 
given  to  that  portion  of  Flanders  he  had  lately 
taken  possession  of.  Never  had  either  Flanders 
or  France  itself  witnessed  a  pageant  so  splendid. 
The  real  object,  however,  of  this  imposing  display 
is  to  conduct  Madame  to  Calais,  where,  being  so 
near  the  land  of  her  birth,  she  will,  naturally,  wish 
to  see  it,  and  to  avail  herself  of  so  favourable  an 
opportunity  of  paying  her  brother  a  visit.  But, 
for  reasons  of  state,  this  visit,  already  arranged,  is 
a  secret  known  only  to  Madame  and  the  king, 
Turenne  and  Louvois. 

The  royal  party  is  a  numerous  one.  The  car- 
riages prepared  for  them  are  surpassingly  sumpt- 
uous— large,  commodious,  and  slung  on  springs; 
luxuriously  cushioned,  and  fitted  up  with  rich  vel- 
vet and  an  abundance  of  gold  embroideries  and 

231 


232  OLD   PARIS 

fringes.  They  have  glass  windows  —  an  improve- 
ment now  generally  adopted  in  the  carriages  of  the 
rich — and  they  may  be  raised  or  lowered  at 
pleasure.  The  paintings  on  the  panels  are  master- 
pieces, usually  mythological  subjects,  in  which, 
under  the  aspect  of  a  god,  you  may  trace  the  feat- 
ures of  Louis  XIV.  The  liveries  of  the  crowd 
of  lackeys,  the  harness  and  trappings  of  the  horses, 
are  of  corresponding  magnificence. 

Besides  Madame,  the  queen  is  of  the  party, 
also  Madame  de  Montespan  —  now  snrintejidante 
de  la  maison  de  la  rcinc  —  Madame  de  La  Valliere, 
Mademoiselle  de  Keroual,  several  princesses,  and 
the  ladies  of  the  royal  household  most  distin- 
guished for  beauty.  Mademoiselle  de  Montpen- 
sier,  with  her  numerous  pages  and  ladies-in- 
waiting,  and  carriages  of  her  own,  rivalling  the 
king's,  has  joined  the  cortege.  But  less  for  the  sake 
of  increasing  its  brilliancy  and  partaking  of  the 
festivities  —  which  began  when  the  pageant  left 
St.  Germain,  and  are  to  continue  throughout  its 
route — than  to  be  near  Lauzun,  colonel  of  the 
Royal  Regiment  of  Guards,  and  now  high  in  favour 
with  the  king.  The  splendour  of  his  uniform,  and 
his  eccentric  airs  and  graces,  as  he  rides  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment,  seeking  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  his  royal  master,  please  Mademoiselle, 
who  desires  to  dazzle  the  gallant  colonel  by  this 
display  of  her  wealth,  and  to  charm  him  by  smiles 
and  gracious  manners,  preparatory  to  making  him 


THE    KING'S  HISTORIOGRAPHER  233 

an  offer  of  marriage.  She  would  greatly  resent 
his  presumption  should  he  dare  to  speak  of  mar- 
riage to  Jier.  Poor  Mademoiselle  !  she,  who  in  the 
bloom  of  her  beauty  rejected  princes  and  kings, 
and  scornfully  laughed  at  Mazarin's  offer  of  the 
crown  of  France,  which  she  had  been  supposed  to 
be  so  anxious  to  wear,  is  much  to  be  pitied  for  fall- 
ing in  love  —  and  for  the  very  first  time  —  with 
this  "Cadet  de  Lauzun,"  when  so  far  advanced  on 
the  road  of  life  as  half-way  between  forty  and  fifty. 
The  little  dauphin,  nine  years  of  age,  is  there  with 
his  court  —  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Montausier, 
governor  and  governess  ;  Bossuet,  just  appointed 
preceptor,  and  a  train  of  attendants. 

M.  Pelisson  is  the  historiographer  appointed  by 
the  king  to  accompany  this  royal  pageant.  The 
same  who  so  learnedly  and  eloquently  defended 
the  unfortunate  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle,  but  who  is 
now  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  royal  favour,  and 
lauding  the  great  Louis  with  fervour  unsurpassed 
by  the  most  abject  of  courtiers.  During  his  four 
years  and  a  half  of  solitude  in  the  Bastille,  he 
seriously  reflected  on  the  errors  of  his  ways.  No 
sooner  was  he  liberated  than  he  abjured  Protes- 
tantism ;  and,  shortly  after,  he  received  his  reward. 
Louis  remembered  the  eloquence  of  his  appeals 
^much  of  which  was  due  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Scudery  —  and  employed  him  to  write  the  his- 
tory of  the  brilliant  conquest  of  Franche  Comt6. 
Pelisson  sounded  the  trumpet  of  fame  so  grandly 


234  OLD   PARIS 

that  even  the  hero  of  that  great  military  achieve- 
ment was  content.  Thenceforth,  Pelisson  pros- 
pered; he  became  an  abbe,  and  was  zealous, 
almost  overmuch,  for  his  new  faith  at  the  time 
of  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes. 

All  the  cooks  and  the  scullions  with  the  royal 
batteries  de  citisine,  and  the  maitres-d' hotel,  with 
the  silver,  the  china,  the  glass,  and  provisions 
of  all  kinds,  together  with  workmen  innumer- 
able to  fit  up  the  banqueting  and  ball-rooms, 
precede  the  king  and  the  royal  cortege.  Their 
business  is  to  prepare  at  the  appointed  places 
for  his  Majesty's  arrival.  With  them  are  also 
waggons,  laden  with  beds  and  splendid  furniture 
from  the  royal  palaces — a  party  of  pioneers  going 
before  to  clear,  or  make  the  roads  for  this  mighty 
procession.  Fifteen  thousand  soldiers  march  be- 
fore the  court,  for  the  reinforcement  of  the 
garrisons;  the  king's  staff  officers  ride  near  his 
carriage,  the  "  Cent  Gardes,"  Suisses,  also  accom- 
pany him,  and  fifteen  thousand  soldiers  follow — 
a  menace  to  the  people  should  any  signs  of  dis- 
satisfaction be  evinced  at  this  triumphal  march 
through  their  country.  For,  although  peace  is 
signed,  the  French  are  looked  upon  in  Flanders 
as  even  less  desirable  masters  than  the  more 
distant  Spaniards.  Many  of  that  nation  also  form 
part  of  the  population,  and  the  taunting  message 
sent  by  the  Spanish  Government  to  its  generals 
and  employes  in  Flanders  and  La  Franche  Comte, 


"THE    THREE    QUEENS''  235 

that  "  if  the  king  of  France  had  but  employed  his 
lackeys  to  take  possession  of  these  provinces,  he 
might  have  saved  himself  the  trouble  of  going  in 
person,  and  with  an  army,  to  do  so,"  has  wounded 
their  pride  exceedingly.  A  display  of  fireworks 
announces  to  the  mayors,  or  chief  magistrates  of 
the  various  towns  visited,  the  approach  of  the 
court,  and  the  special  honour  about  to  be  inflicted 
upon  them. 

With  this  pompous  retinue  —  like  a  cloud  of 
locusts,  devouring  all  that  lay  before  it  —  French 
Flanders  was  traversed.  The  Flemish  ladies  were 
especially  anxious  to  see  "  the  three  queens ; " 
and  all  who  could  find  or  make  any  pretext  for 
visiting  them  met  with  a  very  gracious  reception. 
For  the  king,  courting  popularity,  distributed  with 
a  liberal  hand  to  the  ladies  many  souvenirs  of  this 
royal  progress  —  such  as  pearls  and  diamonds, 
bracelets,  earrings,  massive  gold  chains,  and  other 
trinkets,  as  well  as  fifteen  hundred  louis  d'or,  daily, 
in  ''gratifications'''  to  the  offtcers  and  troops  in 
garrison.  He  was  very  desirous  of  propitiating 
all  classes  in  Flanders,  because  of  his  designs 
on  their  neighbours,  the  Dutch. 

Immediately  after  the  signing  of  the  Peace 
of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  the  king  and  his  minister, 
Louvois,  began  quietly,  but  diligently,  to  prepare 
for  the  annihilation  of  the  flourishing  little  state 
which  had  presumed  to  step  forward  as  a  check 
to  his  ambition.     Thirty  vessels  of  war  were  build- 


236  OLD    PARIS 

ing,  each  to  carry  fifty  guns.  A  larger  army  than 
France  had  ever  before  possessed  was  being 
raised  and  splendidly  equipped,  and  the  infantry 
disciplined  and  drilled  by  the  famous  General 
Martinet,  who  was  arming  several  regiments  with 
the  bayonet  —  which  from  that  time  entirely  su- 
perseded the  pike,  and  was  then  considered  the 
most  terrible  weapon  that  military  art  had  in- 
vented. The  cavalry,  under  another  tactician,  the 
Vicomte  de  Fourilles,  were  being  exercised  in  new 
evolutions,  and  subjected  to  more  systematic  rules 
and  regulations  as  regarded  discipline.  Stores 
were  being  collected,  and  more  efficient  methods 
of  transport  devised.  Unsuspecting  Holland,  look- 
ing on  these  preparations  as  merely  a  menace  to 
Spain,  furnished  a  considerable  part  of  the  ammu- 
nition destined  to  be  employed  against  herself, 
thus  aiding  the  designs  of  her  enemy,  her  sup- 
plies of  military  stores  generally  being  still  unre- 
placed  when  she  found  she  needed  them  most. 

But  when  all  that  ambition,  human  foresight, 
and  a  desire  for  revenge  could  suggest  had  been 
done  to  ensure  success  in  this  enterprise,  it  was 
felt,  by  both  the  minister  and  the  king,  that, 
unless  England  could  be  detached  from  her  alli- 
ance with  Holland,  these  vast  preparations  might 
possibly  prove  very  little  disastrous  to  the  Dutch, 
or  even  to  have  been  made  wholly  in  vain. 
Charles  cared  neither  for  France  nor  Holland, 
and  regarded  not  the  honour  of  his  country.     A 


A    WIXDFALL    FOR    CHARLES  23/ 

life  of  dissolute  gaiety,  and  plenty  of  money  to 
squander  on  his  own  menus  plaisirs  and  those  of 
his  favourites  and  ladies-in-waiting,  comprised  all 
he  desired.  Dunquerque,  acquired  by  Cromwell, 
he  had  already  sold  to  France  for  five  million  of 
francs.  And  a  very  acceptable  windfall  it  was  to 
him,  as  he  could  not  obtain  money  with  the  same 
facility  as  his  more  despotic  cousin  of  France.  It 
was  likely,  therefore,  that  it  would  be  convenient 
to  him  to  receive  another  good  round  sum  ;  and 
that  he  would  have  no  very  strong  scruples  of 
conscience  to  overcome  should  the  conditions  in- 
volved in  its  acceptance  include  even  an  act  of 
baseness. 

To  attain  his  ends,  the  bright  thought  occurred 
to  Louis  of  sending  a  lady  to  Charles,  as  pleni- 
potentiary and  envoy  extraordinary  —  the  intrigu- 
ing and  unscrupulous  Madame  ;  who,  whether  in 
person  she  resembled  her  brother  or  not,  was 
exceedingly  like  him  in  disposition  and  character. 
A  sister,  however,  is  not  always  the  most  influ- 
ential pleader  to  send  to  a  brother.  Mademoiselle 
de  Keroual,  2ine  belle  Bretonne,  was  therefore 
attached  to  the  mission.  Finding  the  English 
fleet  anchored  off  Dunquerque,  the  lady  diplo- 
matists embarked  at  that  port,  accompanied  by  a 
part  of  the  French  court.  After  a  good  tossing 
in  the  Channel,  they  landed  at  Dover,  where  they 
remained  for  a  day  or  two  to  repose.  Charles, 
being  informed  of  their  arrival,  hastened  to  meet 


238  OLD   PARIS 

them  at  Canterbury.  And  there  his  accustomed 
deference  to  the  wishes  of  ladies,  his  great  friend- 
ship for  his  cousin  of  France,  also  some  regard  to 
the  empty  condition  of  the  royal  private  purse, 
but,  above  all,  his  utter  want  of  the  slightest 
sense  of  honour,  induced  him  to  accept  the  hand- 
some consideration  offered  him,  and  to  consent  to 
pick  a  quarrel  with  the  Dutchmen  —  to  leave 
them,  in  fact,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  to  be 
dealt  with  according  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
Grand  Monarque. 

Mdlle.  de  Keroual  was  so  well  pleased  either 
with  England  or  its  merry  monarch,  or  perhaps 
with  both,  that  she  did  not  return  to  France;  and 
Charles  was  so  well  pleased  with  la  belle  Bretonne 
that  he  created  her  Duchess  of  Portsmouth, 
Madame,  however,  having  accomplished  the  hon- 
ourable object  of  her  mission,  came  back  tri- 
umphant. Though  she  had  lost  her  "  attacJiecy 
she  had  the  treaty  of  Canterbury  in  her  pocket, 
duly  signed  and  sealed. 

During  her  absence,  the  king's  progress  being 
ended,  he  had  given  a  series  of  entertainments  — 
balls,  ballets,  and  plays.  He  and  the  queen,  with 
Mademoiselle,  Mesdames  de  Montespan  and  La 
Valliere,  and  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court, 
had  danced  and  performed  in  them  to  the  delight 
and  wonder  of  the  Flemish  beaux  and  belles.  The 
great  homage  paid  by  the  king  to  Madame  de 
Montespan  opened  the  eyes  of  the  court,  of  the 


LA    VALLIERE'S  STAR   SETTING  239 

"mattresse  en  titre"  and  of  the  poor  little  queen, 
to  the  waning  favour  of  La  Valliere  and  the  ap- 
proaching triumph  of  her  successor.  All  were, 
of  course,  ready  to  worship  the  rising  star  at 
the  first  signal  from  the  king  that  such  was  his 
royal  will  and  pleasure.  But  that  signal  was  not 
yet  given — the  haughty  airs  of  Montespan,  the 
timid,  silent  trouble  of  the  queen,  the  reproaches 
and  tears  of  La  Valliere  being,  under  the  circum- 
stances, exhibited  tres  inal-a-propos.  For  the 
king  and  his  three  queens  were  the  observed  of 
all  observers,  and  living,  from  necessity  during 
this  progress,  very  much  in  public,  their  words, 
their  looks,  their  actions,  were  closely  scrutinized, 
and  became  the  subject  of  very  free,  and  often 
very  merry,  comment.  The  king,  aware  of  this, 
was  annoyed  —  it  was  a  crime  in  his  eyes. 
Though  it  is  not  possible  to  imagine  that  it  ever 
entered  his  thoughts  that  he  himself  could  appear 
ridiculous,  yet  he  may  have  possessed  just  so 
much  of  a  Frenchman's  sensitiveness  as  to  per- 
ceive that  his  three  queens  did,  and  to  be  irritated 
by  it.  Positive  blindness  was  the  rule  at  court 
both  to  his  and  his  mistresses'  immoralities ;  the 
arrival  of  Madame,  therefore,  could  not  have 
occurred  more  opportunely,  both  on  account  of 
the  satisfaction  he  received,  from  the  success  of 
her  and  the  fair  Bretonne's  diplomacy,  and  the 
pretext  it  afforded  for  immediately  returning  to 
St.  Germain. 


240  OLD    PARIS 

The  menage  of  Madame  and  Monsieur  was 
rather  a  disorderly  one.  If  the  conduct  of  Mon- 
sieur was  bad,  that  of  Madame  was  little  better. 
*'  Elle  manqiiait  a  Moiisieur  en  beajicoup  de  eJioses, 
et  raigveiir  etait  grande  de  toutes  parts^'  are  the 
words  of  Madame  de  La  Fayette,  her  intimate 
friend  and  chosen  biographer.  Monsieur  disap- 
proved this  visit  to  England,  whose  object  was 
not  communicated  to  him,  as  well  as  the  secret 
but  great  intimacy  that  continued  to  exist  between 
Madame  and  the  king.  Some  suspicions  of  poi- 
soning attached  to  him  when,  not  long  after 
her  return,  her  death  took  place,  rather  suddenly, 
at  St.  Cloud.  They,  however,  seem  to  have  been 
wholly  unfounded  ;  and  Saint  Simon's  statement 
that  the  poison  was  sent  from  Rome  by  the 
Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  a  discarded  and  banished 
favourite  of  Monsieur,  is  unworthy  of  credit. 
Saint  Simon  gives  the  story  without  much  vari- 
ation, very  likely  from  the  words  in  which  it  was 
repeated  to  him  thirty  years  or  more  after  the 
event  (for  it  occurred  five  years  before  he  was 
born),  by  a  friend  who  had  heard  it  from  a  man 
supposed  to  have  been  implicated  in  the  motive- 
less crime.  The  man  was  pardoned,  he  says,  by 
Louis  XIV.  on  confessing  to  him  in  secret  that 
Madame  was  poisoned,  and  giving  him  his  assur- 
ance that  Monsieur  was  not  concerned  in  the  vile 
deed,  and  had  no  knowledge  of  it. 

The  poison  is  said  to  have  been  diamond-dust, 


DEATH  OF  MADAME  24 1 

put  into  a  glass  of  chicory-water  —  which  Madame 
was  accustomed  to  take  daily  —  a  poison  that 
would  have  no  other  effect  than,  when,  as  at  a 
royal  banquet  in  ancient  days,  there  was  thrown 

"  A  pearl  of  great  price  in  a  goblet  of  gold, 
More  costly  to  render  the  draught.'''' 

Her  death,  more  probably,  was  owing  to  the 
effects  of  a  dissipated  life  on  a  weakly  constitu- 
tion ;  or  she  may  have  been  bled  to  death,  as  the 
Princess  of  Conti  was  beaten  and  battered  to 
death,  to  rouse  her  from  a  lethargy,  or  supposed 
apoplexy.  The  doctor  was  too  generally  brought 
in,  in  those  days,  but  to  give  the  patient  the  coup 
de  grace.  Of  medical  or  surgical  skill  there  was 
none,  and  less  progress  was  made  in  the  healing 
art  than  in  any  other. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

Funeral  Oration  of  Madame.  —  Madame's  Last  Hours.  —  Great 
Pulpit-Orators.  —  Preachers  at  the  Play.  —  The  Pulpit  and 
the  Stage.  —  Fenelon.  —  Telemaque.  —  Peterborough  at 
Cambrai.  —  Cambrai  during  the  Wars.  —  Saint  Simon's  Por- 
trait of  Fenelon. 

lADAME  was  but  in  her  twenty-seventh 


year  when  she  died.  Her  funeral  ora- 
tion, pronounced  by  Bossuet,  was  one 
of  that  great  preacher's  finest  displays  of  oratory. 
The  impression  it  made  on  his  hearers  was  almost 
unparalleled.  "  Cette  oraison  fiuikbre,''  says  Vol- 
taire, "  cut  le  phis  grand  et  le  plus  rare  des  succks, 
celiii  dc  faire  verser  des  larmes  a  la  coury  The 
orator  himself  was  deeply  affected.  Madame  had 
been  much  moved  by  Bossuet's  oration  on  the 
death  of  her  mother  in  the  preceding  year,  and 
had  expressed  her  intention,  shortly  after  that 
event,  to  begin  to  ^^ faire  son  saint."  Bossuet  had, 
therefore,  been  requested  to  come  to  her,  when  she 
was  at  leisure,  and  talk  with  her  on  the  subject. 

After  a  round  of  dissipation  it  was  customary 
to  leave  off  jewellery  and  rouge  and  to  spend  a 
few  days,  en  retraite,  in  some  fashionable,  convent 
—  usually  the  Carmelites.  Confession  and  abso- 
lution followed;  and  the  fine  ladies  of  that  period 
242 


MADAME'S   LAST  HOURS  243 

were  ready,  with  a  clear  conscience,  to  return  to 
the  world  to  go  through  the  same  process  again. 
And  it  is  probable  that  Madame  had  not  neglected 
to  perform  those  outward  acts  of  i^iety.  Few 
ladies  neglected  them,  since  Anne  of  Austria  had 
introduced  the  fashion  of  uniting  "  la  devotion 
avcc  la  belle  galantcric,''  and  Louis  XIV.  had 
continued  it. 

But  Bossuet  was  with  Madame  in  her  last 
hours,  striving  to  soothe  the  agony  of  her  death- 
bed, and  to  allay  her  mental  distress  with  words 
of  comfort  and  hope.  He  had  seen  this  princess, 
whose  gaiety  and  wit,  but  two  days  before, 
charmed  and  enlivened  a  dissolute  court,  expire  in 
the  prime  of  life  —  her  last  breath  expended  in 
one  long,  piercing  cry  of  anguish.  It  can  well  be 
believed  that  the  faltering  voice  of  the  great 
preacher,  as  he  uttered  the  opening  words  of  his 
discourse,  followed  by  momentary  inability  to  con- 
tinue—  the  silence  broken  only  by  the  sobs  of  his 
auditors  —  proceeded,  not  from  mere  oratorical  art, 
seeking  to  produce  effect,  but  from  real  emotion. 
Who  does  not  know  those  opening  words  } 

"O  unit  desastrense !  O  unit  cffroyable  I  oh 
retentit  tout  a  coup,  commc  iin  eclat  de  tonnerre 
cette  accablante  nouvelle :  Madame  se  me?irt !  — 
Madame  est  morte !  "  Throughout,  this  oration 
is  sublimely  pathetic,  yet  so  natural,  so  simple.  If 
there  is  art  in  it,  it  is  the  perfection  of  art,  for 
it  is  nowhere  apparent  ;  but  the  voice  and  action 


244  OLD    PARIS 

of  the  orator  would  naturally  impart  to  it  a  still 
greater  and  far  more  impressive  interest. 

On  the  stage  and  in  the  pulpit  no  country  has 
excelled  France,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the 
latter  has  ever  been  filled  by  more  powerful  ora- 
tors than  the  great  preachers  of  the  time  of  Louis 
XIV.  Amongst  them  must  be  included  the  rival 
of  Bossuet  and  Bourdaloue,  Jean  Claude,  the  elo- 
quent Protestant  minister  of  Charenton,  with 
whom  Bossuet  so  long  contended  in  the  famous 
Conference  on  the  subject  of  the  authority  on 
which  certain  doctrines  of  their  respective  faiths 
were  founded.  It  was  probably  to  Claude  that 
Madame  de  Sevigne  alluded  in  her  letter  of  Feb- 
ruary 5th,  1674  :  "Z^  ph-e  Bourdaloue,''  she  says, 
^^fit  un  sermon  le  jour  de  Notre  Dame,  qui  trans- 
port a  tout  le  monde.  II  ctait  d'une  force  a  /aire 
trembler  les  courtisans,  et  jamais  prcdieateur  evan- 
ge'liquc  u'a  precJie  plus  liautmejit  ni  ge'nereusement 
les  verites  eJirctiennesy  Yet,  with  the  exception 
of  Claude,  who,  not  being  of  the  court,  was  not 
exposed  to  the  same  temptation,  rarely  did  even 
these  magnates  of  the  Church  fail  to  fall  in  with 
the  prevailing  disposition  to  flatter  the  vanity  of 
the  king.  They  launched  out  boldly  and  de- 
nounced the  vices  of  the  day ;  they  spoke  of 
death  and  judgment  to  come,  in  tones  and  words 
that  thrilled  through  every  heart  ;  yet,  when  their 
eyes  turned  towards  the  king,  these  great  masters 
of  oratorical  art,  by  gesture,  by  change  of  expres- 


THE   PULPIT  AND    THE   STAGE  245 

sion,  by  momentary  but  sudden  silence,  or  other 
effective  action,  seemed  to  indicate  that  there  was 
present  one  great  being,  lifted  above  the  rest  of 
poor  humanity,  to  whom  none  of  those  things 
applied. 

They  were,  indeed,  preachers  by  profession, 
distinct  from  the  priesthood  ;  they  had  their  logc 
grillee  at  the  theatre,  where,  hidden  from  vulgar 
gaze,  they  studied  the  attitudes,  the  gestures,  and 
the  varying  expression  of  countenance,  of  the  prin- 
cipal actors,  both  male  and  female.  Moliere,  who 
was  an  excellent  comedian  —  as  all  actors  were  then 
called  —  and  played  the  chief  part  in  his  own  plays ; 
the  inimitable  Baron,  who  succeeded  him  ;  Champ- 
mesle,  with  whom  Racine  was  in  love,  and  for  the 
display  of  whose  great  tragic  powers  his  first  plays 
were  chiefly  written  ;  Desoeillets,  and  other  celeb- 
rities of  the  stage  —  all  served  as  models  to  the 
celebrities  of  the  pulpit.  For  the  pulpit  was,  as 
the  stage,  "a  thing  of  fashion,  a  piece  of  display." 
But  the  preacher  denounced  the  player,  from  whom 
so  much  of  his  effective  action  was  borrowed,  and 
while  often  using  it  to  give  force  to  his  words, 
when  pointing  out  to  others  the  road  to  heaven, 
forbade  the  poor  players  even  to  hope  that  Saint 
Peter  would  open  its  gates  to  them.  Condemned 
to  the  lower  regions,  these  outcasts  from  heaven 
must  not,  in  death,  mingle  their  dust  with  that  of 
the  flock  of  the  faithful.  Moliere,  who  died  while 
playing  in  the  "  Malade  imaginaire,"  in  February, 


246  OLD   PARTS 

1673,  was,  as  is  well  known,  refused  Christian 
burial.  His  wife  petitioned  in  vain  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris,  the  infamous  debaiicJie,  Harlai,  and 
only  at  the  instance  of  Louis  XIV.  did  he  allow 
of  the  interment,  secretly,  in  the  cemetery  of  the 
chapel  of  Saint  Joseph,  in  the  Faubourg  de  Mont- 
martre.  Two  priests  attended,  but  the  usual  pray- 
ers were  not  intoned,  and  no  burial  service  was 
read.  Yet  Moliere  deserved  not  only  Christian 
burial,  but  a  funeral  oration,  and  far  more  than 
many  to  whom  the  vain  honour  was  accorded.  If 
he  was  too  subservient  to  the  king,  so  were  those 
great  orators  of  the  church,  Bossuet,  Bourdaloue, 
Massillon,  and  the  rest. 

Perhaps  Fenelon,  who  appeared  somewhat  later 
in  the  century,  was  less  of  a  courtier  than  others, 
though  apparently  by  nature  adapted  for  one.  At 
all  events,  he  did  not  find  favour  with  the  Grand 
Monarque,  who  called  him,  ^^  I'honiine  le  plus  chi- 
vicriquc  de  son  royaumc  ;  "  and  he  excited  the  envy 
of  Bossuet,  who,  in  his  character  of  *^  le  pcre  de 
V Eglise"  caballed  against  him.  Fenelon  was  or- 
dered to  repair  to  his  diocese  ;  his  book,  "  Les 
Maximes  des  Saints,"  was  denounced  ;  and  he  was 
accused  of  fatal  heresy  in  asserting,  with  the  Ouiet- 
ists,  that  "  God  should  be  loved  for  Himself."  But 
his  unpardonable  crime  in  the  eyes  of  the  king  was 
the  work  that  obtained  for  him  his  world-wide 
renown  —  "Telemaque."  Louis  saw  in  it  a  cen- 
sure on  himself  and  his  ""overnmcnt.      In  the  love 


jfenelon 


FENELON'S    TELEMAQUE  247 

of  flattery,  in  the  extravagance,  the  undertaking  of 
useless  wars,  the  disregard  of  the  lives  of  his  sub- 
jects, and  the  ruin  of  the  state  by  oppressive  taxa- 
tion, attributed  to  Idomenee,  he  recognized  his 
own  portrait.  Mentor,  addressing  Idomenee,  says  : 
"  Une  vaiiie  ambition  iwiis  a  poiisse  jnsqiiau  bord 
dn  precipice ;  a  force  de  voidoir  'paraitre  grand, 
vous  avez  pense  miner  voire  vh'itable  grand- 
eur!' And  Louis,  when  he  read  this  work  from 
a  manuscript  copy,  found  himself  exactly  in  the 
position  described.  He  was  mortified  beyond 
measure ;  but  less  at  the  truthfulness  he  discov 
ered  in  it  than  at  the  audacity  of  the  author  in 
telling  the  truth.  In  reference  to  the  denizens  of 
the  infernal  regions,  the  observation  occurs  :  "  On 
remarqiiait  gne  Ics  plus  niecJiants  d' entre  les  rois, 
etaient  cenx  a  qni  on  avail  donne  les  plus  magni- 
fiqnes  loiianges pendant  lenrvie."  This,  also,  Louis 
appropriated,  as  a  hint  of  what  was  reserved  for 
him  hereafter.  Much  more  to  the  same  effect, 
and  equally  irritating,  he  found  in  the  work ;  for 
he  read  the  whole  of  it  —  interested,  probably,  in 
spite  of  his  displeasure. 

As  the  king  had  no  magnanimity  in  his  charac- 
ter, he  was  unable  to  pardon  censure,  under  any 
form,  on  himself  or  his  government.  He  forbade 
the  publication  of  "  Telemaque,"  which  was  not 
written,  as  is  sometimes  asserted,  for  the  use  of 
Fenelon's  pupil,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  but  was 
composed  in  his  leisure  hours,  after  his  retirement 


248  OLD   PARIS 

to  his  diocese.  His  valet  de  chanibrc  is  said 
secretly  to  have  copied  it  and  sent  it  to  Amster- 
dam for  publication  —  thus  spreading  throughout 
Europe  the  name  and  fame  of  the  archbishop, 
notwithstanding  the  displeasure  of  the  king.  How- 
Louis's  manuscript  was  obtained  does  not  very 
clearly  appear. 

Fenelon  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  men. 
There  was  a  spice  of  romance  in  his  character 
which,  with  his  pleasing  personal  appearance  and 
distinguished  manners,  was  very  attractive.  Ban- 
ished from  the  court,  he  never  returned  to  it,  but 
passed  the  rest  of  his  life  at  Cambrai.  He  was 
greatly  beloved;  no  person  of  distinction  passed 
through  or  within  a  considerable  distance  of  the 
place  of  his  residence  without  visiting  the  arch- 
bishop, to  whose  hospitable  abode  all  were  kindly 
and  courteously  welcomed.  The  eccentric  Lord 
Peterborough  was  his  guest  for  a  fortnight  or 
more.  While  at  Cambrai,  he  wrote  to  a  friend  in 
England  that  if  he  stayed  another  week  with 
Fenelon,  his  example  would  make  a  Christian  of 
him,  in  spite  of  himself.  During  the  wars,  vv^hen 
fighting  occurred  in  or  near  his  diocese,  he  re- 
ceived  into  his  spacious  archiepiscopal  residence 
the  sick  and  wounded,  irrespective  of  nation,  rank, 
or  creed,  and  had  them  carefully  attended  to  and 
provided  for.  When  the  royal  troops  were  suffer- 
ing from  scarcity  of  provisions,  he  opened  his 
granaries  and  supplied  them  gratuitously.     Even 


SAINT  SIMON'S  PORTRAIT  OF  FKNELON  249 

the  king  felt  compelled  to  praise  him ;  and  Marl- 
borough, who  commanded  the  English  armies,  so 
highly  esteemed  this  good  and  great  archbishop, 
from  whom  his  disabled  soldiers  had  received  so 
much  kindness,  that  he  ordered  his  domain  to  be 
spared  from  the  ravages  of  the  troops.  The 
Duke  of  Burgundy  was  strongly  attached  to  him. 
Had  he  succeeded  to  the  throne,  and  the  arch- 
bishop lived,  he  would,  no  doubt,  as  was  generally 
expected  and  desired,  have  recalled  him  from 
Cambrai  to  take  part  in  the  government.  But 
Louis  outlived  them  both.  Fenelon  died  a  few 
months  before  the  king,  in  his  sixty-fourth  year, 
from  the  effects  of  an  accident  while  on  a  journey. 
^^  Sa pIiysio7ioniie,''  says  Saint  Simon,  ^^ rasseniblait 
tout,  et  les  contraircs  ne  sy  combattaiciit  point. 
Elle  avait  de  la  gravite  ct  dc  la  galanterie,  dit 
s^rieiix  et  de  la  gaiete ;  elle  scntait  egalement  le 
docteitr,  Ve'veqiie  et  le  grand  seigncnr.  Ses  ina- 
ni^res  y  repondaieitt.  Avec  eela,  nn  honime  qui  se 
met  tail  a  la  portee  de  chacnn,  sans  le  faire  jamais 
sentir ;  qui  les  mettait  a  Vaisc  et  qui  semblait  en- 
chanter; defacon  qu'on  ne poiivait  le  qnitter,  ni  s  en 
defendre  ni  ne  pas  cJicrcJicr  a  le  rctronvcr.  A  tout 
prendre,  c'etait  2in  be  I  esprit  et  nn  grand  Iiommcy 
One  of  the  most  interesting,  and  most  truthful 
of  Saint  Simon's  portraits  of  celebrated  persons 
of  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  is 
that  of  this  highly  estimable  Archbishop  of  Cam- 
brai. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Mademoiselle's  Secret.  —  A  Respectful  Lover.  —  The  Name  on 
the  Window-Pane.  —  Louis  consents  to  the  Marriage.  — 
"  Delays  are  Dangerous."  —  The  King's  Honour  at  Stake. 
—  Disappointed  Hopes.  —  Grief  and  Wild  Despair.  —  The 
Marquis  de  Montespan.  —  La  Valliere's  First  Flight.  — 
The  Mardi-Gras  Ball.  —  The  Rival  Mistresses.  —  "  L'Amphi- 
tryon." 

I  HE  haughty  and  imperious  Grande 
Mademoiselle  has  confided  to  the  fa- 
voured Count  de  Lauzun  that  her  affec- 
tions are  given  to  '*;/«  geiitilhomine  de  la  coiirr 
It  is,  however,  a  secret,  undivulged  love,  and  she 
would  have  him  guess  the  name  of  the  fortunate 
individual  whose  exceptional  merits  had  awakened 
those  tender  emotions  that  so  long  had  lain 
dormant  in  her  heart.  Lauzun  is,  of  course, 
greatly  flattered  by  this  mark  of  Mademoiselle's 
confidence  in  him  ;  but,  alas  !  he  can  name  no  one 
worthy  of  the  priceless  gift.  Timidly,  as  he 
speaks,  he  raises  his  downcast  eyes  to  her,  as  if 
beseeching  her  to  spare  him  the  pain  of  this  cruel 
badinage.  For  this  is  not  the  first  time,  since 
the  return  from  Flanders,  that  Mademoiselle  has 
250 


A    RES PR C TFUL    LOVER  2 5  I 

endeavoured  to  draw  from  the  gallant  count  a 
confession,  not  exactly  amounting  to  a  declaration 
of  love — she  would  almost  resent  that  as  pre- 
sumptuous—  but  indicating  that  he  could  a 
tender  tale  unfold  were  he  not  awed  by  the 
height  of  the  pinnacle  of  greatness  that  elevates 
her  so  far  above  him. 

But  Lauzun  is  too  wary  to  be  drawn  into  such  a 
confession.  He  has  long  and  assiduously  paid 
his  court  to  her,  with  the  view  of  insinuating 
himself  into  her  affections ;  but  knowing  her 
character,  he  has  never  approached  her  but  with 
an  air  and  tone  of  profound  and  severe  respect, 
that  seemed  to  exclude  all  idea  of  gallantry,  or 
hope  of  pleasing  as  a  lover.  And  he  chose  to 
appear  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  he 
did  please.  When  Mademoiselle  wished  to  make 
him  understand  that  his  attentions  were  agreeable 
to  her,  he  gently  complained  that  her  irony  dis- 
tressed him.  This  pure  and  respectful  attach- 
ment greatly  exalted  him  in  her  opinion.  She 
desired  to  reward  it,  and  imagined — for  Mademoi- 
selle was  a  novice  in  such  matters  —  how  great 
would  be  his  delight,  his  surprise,  his  joy,  his 
gratitude,  when  the  truth  dawned  upon  him  that 
the  love  he  dared  not  tell  was  not  only  divined 
but  reciprocated.  Yet  she  hesitated ;  for  in 
affairs  of  the  heart,  even  a  queen  or  a  grande 
mademoiselle  would  wish  to  lay  aside  dignity,  and, 
as   an   ordinary  woman,   be    asked    for   her   love. 


252  OLD    PARIS 

though  by  one  a  step  or  two  below  royalty,  rather 
than  timidly  offer  it. 

This  womanly  feeling  made  the  name  of  Lauzun 
difficult  to  utter  ;  twice  it  died  on  her  lips,  and 
again  she  asked  him  to  guess.  But  Lauzun  still 
affected  to  torture  his  brains  in  vain.  Mademoi- 
selle, determined  at  last  by  one  decisive  effort  to 
tear  the  veil  from  his  eyes,  rose,  and  on  a  window- 
pane,  which  was  conveniently  covered  with  dust, 
slowly  traced  with  her  finger  the  name  of  the  man 
she  loved.  Lauzun  gazed  upon  it  with  ecstasy, 
yet  as  one  who  believed  that  he  dreamed.  After 
sufficient  time  had  been  given  to  dumb  raptures  — 
for  he  would  not  trust  his  tongue  to  tell  them  — 
he  rushed  towards  the  enraptured  Mademoiselle, 
and,  still  speechless  with  emotion,  threw  himself 
at  her  feet.  She  raised  him,  and  he  was  per- 
mitted—  happy  man! — to  touch  the  tips  of  her 
fair  fingers  with  his  lips. 

Without  the  king's  consent  there  could  be  no 
publicly-acknowledged  marriage.  But  Louis  was 
so  deeply  moved  by  the  pathetic  eloquence  with 
which  love  inspired  his  fair  cousin,  when  on  her 
knees  she  poured  forth  the  story  of  her  heart's 
struggles,  her  hopes,  her  longings,  her  supplica- 
tions to  be  permitted  to  raise  to  her  own  rank  the 
man  to  whom  her  affections  were  wholly  devoted, 
that  he  unhesitatingly  gave  his  consent.  Lauzun 
was  to  become  Due  de  Montpensier,  and  to  be  en- 
dowed with  all  Mademoiselle's  worldly  goods,  which 


LOUIS   CONSENTS    TO    THE   MARRIAGE     253 

comprised  one  of  the  largest  fortunes  in  the  king- 
dom—  four  duchies,  the  principality  of  Dombes, 
the  Comte  d'Eu,  the  palace  of  the  Luxembourg, 
several  by  no  means  despicable  etceteras,  and 
twenty  millions  of  livres  de  rentes.  She  would  re- 
serve nothing  for  herself,  in  order  to  show  her  full 
confidence  in  him. 

On  Monday,  the  15  th  of  December,  1670,*  the 
marriage  was  publicly  announced  to  take  place  at 
the  Louvre  on  the  following  Sunday.  The  event 
was  also  made  known  to  foreign  courts.  An 
earlier  day  had  been  named  ;  but  Lauzun  was  not 
disposed  to  have  the  ceremony  privately  and 
quietly  performed.  He  would  enjoy  his  triumph  ; 
M.  le  Due  de  Montpensier  must  have  a  suitable 
retinue  —  new  carriages,  new  liveries,  and  be 
married,  as  he  suggested,  when  the  king  attended 
mass  in  the  royal  chapel  of  the  Tuileries.  Tues- 
day, as  Madame  de  Sevigne  informs  us,  ''  se  passa 
a  parley,  a  s'e'tonner,  a  couiplinienter'''  On  Wednes- 
day, Mademoiselle  made  a  gift  to  her  fiance  of  the 
estates  that  conferred  on  him  the  names  and  the 
titles  he  was  described  by  in  the  marriage  con- 
tract, which  awaited  only  the  king's  signature. 
For  that  day  M.  de  Lauzun  was  at  the  head  of  the 
French  peerage,  in  virtue  of  his  possession  of  the 

*  See  Madame  de  Sevigne's  letter  of  that  date  to  M.  de  Cou- 
langes,  announcing,  "/a  chose  la  phis  etonnante,  la  plus  mer- 
veilleuse,  la  phis  miraculeiise,  la  plus  etoiirdissante"  etc.,  etc., 
etc. 


2  54  OLD   PARIS 

Comte  d'Eu,  and  his  vanity  gratified,  for  the  same 
space  of  time,  by  being  addressed  as  M.  le  Due  de 
Montpensier.  On  Thursday  morning  it  was  deter- 
mined that  the  marriage  should  be  solemnized  in 
the  country.  Delays  are  proverbially  dangerous, 
and  in  this  instance  proved  fatal  to  the  hopes  of 
both  love  and  ambition.  To  delay  their  realization 
was  "to  tempt  God  and  the  king,"  as  a  friend  ob- 
served to  Mademoiselle.  But  she  had  the  king's 
consent,  at  least ;  and  upon  that  she  relied. 

On  the  evening  of  Thursday,  Mademoiselle  and 
Lauzun  were  desired  to  attend  the  king  at  the 
Tuileries.  This  is  almost  the  only  occasion  on 
which  we  hear  of  the  poor  little  timid  queen's  in- 
terference in  any  affair,  either  domestic  or  public. 
She  was  now,  however,  put  forward  and  supported 
by  the  Due  d'Orleans,  le  Grand  Conde,  several  of 
the  principal  nobility,  and  the  ministers  —  Louvois, 
especially  —  to  represent  to  his  Majesty  how  de- 
rogatory was  such  a  marriage  to  a  princess  of  the 
royal  house  of  France !  How  offensive  to  the 
princes  of  the  blood,  that  this  Gascon  adventurer 
should  be  allowed  to  assume  the  proud  name  of 
Montpensier,  and  be  placed  on  a  level  with  them ! 
How  mortifying  to  the  ancient  nobility,  that  this 
younger  son  of  the  obscure  family  of  Puyguilhem 
(his  family  name)  should  take  the  pas  of  them  by 
being  raised  to  the  first  peerage  in  the  kingdom  ! 
"  The  king's  honour  and  reputation  would  be 
lowered  in  the  sight  of  the  world  if  he  permitted 


DisArroiNTED  HOPES  255 

this  marriage  to  take  place."  The  king  shuddered 
at  the  bare  idea  of  the  possibility  of  such  a  calam- 
ity. There  was  no  need  to  urge  further — he  was 
convinced.  And  when  Mademoiselle  and  Lauzun 
appeared,  instead  of  the  signing  of  the  contract  — 
to  witness  which  they  supposed  they  were  sum- 
moned—  they  were  informed  that  the  king  with- 
drew his  consent,  and  absolutely  forbade  them  to 
think  of  the  marriage. 

It  must  have  been  a  trying  moment  for  both 
of  them.  Lauzun  believed  that  he  had  firmly 
placed  his  foot  on  the  lofty  height  to  which  his 
ambition  had  pointed.  But,  suddenly  thrust  to 
earth  again,  he  struggled  manfully  with  the  feel- 
ings of  deep  disappointment  he  naturally  experi- 
enced when  so  unexpected  a  blow  was  dealt  to 
him.  He  received  the  king's  order  with  firmness, 
but  with  every  appearance  of  respect  and  submis- 
sion. Not  so  la  Grande  Mademoiselle.  She 
wept,  she  raved,  and  complained  bitterly;  and 
overwhelmed  her  royal  cousin  with  reproaches. 
On  returning  to  the  Luxembourg,  she  immedi- 
ately went  to  bed,  wept  floods  of  tears,  and 
"would  take  nothing  for  two  days  but  broth." 
But  on  the  following  day  she  received  visits,  after 
the  fashion  of  disconsolate  widows  —  lying  in 
state  in  her  bed.  Her  niclle  was  filled  with 
guests,  curious  to  see  how  she  bore  her  grief,  if 
they  felt  but  little  compassion  for  her.  And  she 
appears    to    have    calmed    down    scarcely    at    all, 


256  OLD   PARIS 

exhibiting,  in  the  violent  demonstration  of  her 
feelings,  a  vehemence  resembling  that  of  her 
grandmother,  Marie  de  Medicis,  and  the  same 
facility  of  weeping  in  torrents.  In  the  wildness 
of  despair,  she  rose  up  in  her  bed,  and  pointing  to 
a  vacant  couch  in  the  room,  she  exclaimed,  "  // 
scrait  la  !  il  serait  la  !  "  Her  sympathizing  vis- 
itors could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughter.  And 
he  would  have  been  there,  had  all  gone  on 
smoothly,  receiving,  as  was  customary,  the  felici- 
tations of  his  friends.  The  foreign  ambassadors 
had  now  to  report  to  their  respective  courts  the 
breaking  off  of  the  marriage,  and  Louis,  who  had 
been  generally  blamed  for  giving  his  consent,  was 
still  more  blamed  for  withdrawing  it. 

Having  exhausted  her  tears  and  reproaches. 
Mademoiselle  reappeared  at  court.  And  she  bore 
herself  somewhat  haughtily ;  but  as  that  was  not 
unusual  with  her,  there  was  little  perceptible 
difference  in  her  manner.  Already  —  so  it  has 
been  asserted  —  she  had  secretly  married  Lauzun. 
But  he,  apparently,  had  behaved  so  well  under 
his  great  disappointment,  that  he  lost  none  of 
his  favour  with  the  king.  He  had  a  fantastic 
mode  of  showing  his  desire  of  pleasing  him, 
venturing  on  absurd  actions,  which  often  excited 
ridicule,  and,  strange  to  say,  even  envy,  because 
royalty  laughed  and  was  amused  at  his  conceits 
and  originality.  "  Cojirtisan  egalement  insolent, 
moqucitr   ct    bas  Jusqu'aii    valctage,    et  plein    de 


THF.    A[ARQU/S   DE    MOXTESPAiV  257 

recherches,  d' indiistrlcs,  d' intrigneSy  de  bassesses 
pour  arriver  a  scs  fins ;  avcc  ccla  daugereicx  aux 
ministres ;  a  la  coiir  redoute  de  tons,  et  pie  in  de 
traits  cruels  et  pleiiis  de  sel  qui  n  epargnaient 
personne.'^* 

Lauzun's  greatest  enemies  were  the  minister 
Louvois  and  Madame  de  Montespan.  The  latter 
was  now  installed  in  the  household  of  the  queen, 
having  succeeded  to  the  post  held  by  the  Count- 
ess de  Soissons.  M.  de  Montespan,  having  at- 
tempted to  remove  his  wife  from  the  palace,  was 
arrested  and  sent  to  the  Bastille.  But  as  his 
detention  there  would  have  been  an  act  too 
flagrant,  even  for  the  king  to  brave  the  scandal 
of,  he  was  liberated,  but  ordered  to  leave  Paris 
and  reside  on  his  estate.  Considering  his  wife 
dead  to  him,  M.  de  Montespan  put  on  mourning, 
which  appears  to  have  given  great  offence  to  the 
king.f 

Still  further  to  increase  the  Grand  Monarque's 
domestic  vexations,  La  Valliere,  unable  to  sup- 
port the  presence  of  so  formidable  a  rival  as  De 
Montespan,  whose  increasing  favour  she  could 
not  fail  to  observe,  in  a  moment  of  jealousy  and 

*  Saint  Simon. 

t  About  thirty  years  ago  a  letter  was  found  in  the  archives 
of  the  city  of  Perpignan  from  the  minister  Louvois  to  the  in- 
tendant  Du  Roussillon,  desiring  him  to  keep  a  vigilant  eye  on 
the  Marquis  de  Montespan,  and  to  lose  no  opportunity  of 
annoying  him  and  seeking  his  ruin.  —  -See  "  Un  Sermon  sous 
Louis  XIV."  (page  3),  par.  I,.  F.:  Bungener. 


258  OLD   PARIS 

despair  fled  to  the  convent  of  the  Benedictines, 
at  St.  Cloud.  No  sooner  was  the  king  aware  of 
her  flight,  and  the  place  of  her  concealment,  than 
he  went  in  person  to  the  convent  and  brought 
away  his  mistress.  This  proof  of  the  attachment 
he  still  felt  for  her,  if  it  was  balm  to  her  feelings, 
was  gall  and  wormwood  to  her  rival's.  But  while 
these  two  women  contended  for  the  first  place 
in  the  king's  favour,  the  queen,  grieved  and 
aggrieved,  secluded  herself  in  her  oratory,  and 
sought  consolation  in  devotion.  De  Montespan 
had  introduced  her  sisters  to  a  share  in  the 
monarch's  good  graces,  and,  for  the  youngest  and 
unmarried  one,  had  obtained  the  post  of  Abbess 
of  Fontevrault,  which  did  not  prevent  her  from 
passing  the  greater  part  of  the  year  at  court. 
She  was  witty  and  beautiful.  The  dress  of  an 
abbess  was  probably  becoming,  and  her  religious 
vows  not  repulsively  severe.  The  episcopal  bene- 
diction was  given  on  the  8th  of  February  fol- 
lowing the  disappointment  of  Mademoiselle;  the 
ceremony  was  grand  and  imposing. 

It  was  carnival-time.  A  masked  ball  was  to 
take  place  at  the  Tuileries  on  Shrove  Tuesday, 
the  1 8th  of  February.  The  king  had  ordered  for 
the  occasion  a  magnificent  costume.  La  Montes- 
pan was  also  to  shine  there,  and  proposed  to  out- 
shine her  rival.  But  on  the  previous  day  the  sen- 
sitive La  Valliere  again  was  missing,  and  it  was 
ascertained  that  she  had  sought  the  protection  of 


THE   MAKDI-GKAS   HALL  259 

La  Mere  Angelique  at  the  convent  of  Ste.  Made- 
leine de  Chaillot.  The  carnival  had,  on  the 
whole,  been  a  dreary  one.  Mademoiselle  had  not 
honoured  the  fetes  with  her  presence  ;  the  three 
queens  had  been  indisposed  for  gaiety,  and  the 
king  much  annoyed  by  the  various  eontretevips 
that  dimmed  the  brilliancy  of  his  balls  and  enter- 
tainments. The  courtiers,  who  watched  his  coun- 
tenance to  regulate  their  own  by  it,  had  assumed 
a  gravity  more  suitable  to  Lent,  and  the  Mardi- 
Gras  ball,  that  should  have  presented  the  gayest 
scene  of  all,  brought  the  revelries  of  the  court  to 
an  end  in  gloom.  Montespan  did  not  appear,  and 
the  king  would  not  wear  his  new  costume.  He 
was  anxious  only  for  the  return  of  Lauzun,  who 
had  been  intrusted  to  bring  back  the  fugitive. 

And  he  brought  her  back,  but  disappointed  and 
weeping  that  her  royal  lover  did  not,  as  before, 
fetch  her  himself.  She  perceived  in  it  a  diminu- 
tion of  his  affection,  and  an  increase  of  her  rival's 
influence.     But  Louis  received  her  with  tears  of 

joy;    Madame   de   Montespan  with   tears   of 

"Guess,"  says  Madame  de  Sevigne,  "of  what.''" 
Well,  probably  tears  of  rage.  For  Madame  de  La 
Valliere  no  sooner  reappeared  than  she  resumed 
the  position  for  which  De  Montespan  still  was 
struggling,  and  which,  equally  with  that  of  Grand 
Ecuyer,  or  confessor,  was  a  recognized  one  in  the 
royal  household  —  "  V etat  de  maitresse  en  titre  dii 
roiy     But,   continues   Sevigne,   "  Von  a  en  avec 


260  OLD   PARIS 

Vune  et  V autre  dcs  conversations  tendrcs.  Tout 
cela  est  difficile  a  comprendre,  il  faut  se  taire''  * 
Such  was  the  complacency  with  which  the  profli- 
gacy of  Louis  XIV.  was  generally  regarded  ;  and 
it  is  evident,  throughout  the  letters  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne,  that  she  sees  nothing  at  all  reprehensi- 
ble in  the  immoralities  of  the  king,  so  often  referred 
to.  "  L' Amphitryon  "  of  Moliere,  with  its  spark- 
ling epigrams,  was  produced  about  this  time,  its 
object  being  to  deride  the  Marquis  de  Montespan, 
and  excuse  or  approve  the  vice  of  Louis  XIV. 
"  C\'st  le  genie  dii  temps,''  observed  Arnaud, 
^'mane  chea  cciix  qui  ont  le  plus  de  lumih'csy 

*  An  anecdote  is  told  of  a  peasant,  who  one  day  meeting 
Madame  de  Montespan  as  she  was  walking  in  the  grounds  of 
Clagny,  saluted  her  with  most  profound  respect,  and  who,  on  her 
inquiring  of  him  if  he  knew  her,  replied  :  "  Mais  out  madame ; 
c'est  votis,  n''est-ce  pas,  qui  a  eti  la  charge  de  Mada?ne  de  La  Val- 
liere  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

The  King's  Visit  to  Chantilly.  —  Reception  at  the  Chateau.  —  A 
Stag-hunt  by  Moonlight.  —  Vatel's  Distress.  —  Vatel's  Sui- 
cide. —  Confusion  and  Dismay.  —  Counting  the  Cost. 

I  HE  king,  with  a  numerous  retinue,  is 
gone  to  visit  Monsieur  le  Prince,  le 
Grand  Conde,  at  his  charming  retreat, 
the  Chateau  de  Chantilly.  He  passes  under  tri- 
umphal arches  of  verdure  in  endless  succession, 
and  at  every  village  the  peasants  have  turned  out 
in  gala  costume  to  greet  him.  The  gardens  and 
grounds  of  Chantilly  are  illuminated  with  lanterns 
of  various  sizes  and  colours,  producing  what  imag- 
inative writers  sometimes  describe  as  "  a  fairy 
scene,"  amidst  which,  picturesquely  costumed,  fair 
dames  and  cavaliers  are  leisurely  strolling,  awaiting 
the  advent  of  their  Grand  Monarque  —  the  toiit- 
ensemblc  forming  a  magnified  picture  of  an  elfin- 
glen,  lighted  up  with  glow-worms  and  fire-flies  for 
the  reception  of  Oberon  and  Titania. 

For  more  than  a  mile  from  the  entrance  to  the 

grounds  the  road  is  lined  on  either  side  with  men 

bearing  torches  ;  ai)d  soon  the  tramping  of  horses, 

the  clanking  of  swords,  the  voices  of  the  men,  and 

261 


262  OLD    PARIS 

a  thick  cloud  of  dust,  announce  the  approach  of 
the  avant-garde.  The  king  shortly  follows.  A 
signal  is  given,  and  a  grand  explosion  of  fireworks 
at  the  end  of  the  avenue  is  the  first  greeting  he 
receives.  It  is  rather  disconcerting  to  the  horses, 
except  to  a  few  old  warriors  among  them  ;  they 
prick  up  their  ears  and  neigh  exultingly,  and  are 
ready  to  rush  into  battle.  Le  Grand  Conde  is 
there  to  receive  le  Grand  Louis,  who  graciously 
invites  him  into  his  coach,  and  together  they  pro- 
ceed to  the  chateau. 

Grands  seigneurs  and  grandes  dames  have  come 
from  all  parts  of  France  to  \.\iv&fete,  and  are  ready 
to  grovel  in  the  dust  before  the  king  to  obtain  but 
a  glance  from  his  eye.  Hundreds  of  retainers 
have  been  splendidly  got  up  for  the  occasion. 
They  are  supernumeraries  who  have  nothing  to 
do  but  to  fill  up  the  stage,  and  look  as  if  they  were 
an  important  part  of  the  spectacle.  And  the  spec- 
tacle is  grand.  The  banqueting-room  is  grand  ;  and 
the  banquet  is  worthy  of  it,  and  of  the  guests  who 
are  to  partake  of  the  delicacies  served  under  the 
superintendence  of  the  great  Vatel  — '' hommc 
d'lme  capacite  distinguee  de  toutes  les  autjrs,"  and 
the  former  chef  and  maftre  dWiotel  of  the  once 
celebrated  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle. 

And  it  needs  the  savoir  fairc  of  a  great  man 
satisfactorily  to  provision  the  army  the  king  has 
brought  with  him  as  a  retinue,  after  providing  for 
the  tables  of  the  grandees.      For  he  is  attended  by 


A   STAG-HUNT  BY  MOONLIGHT  263 

the  corps  of  gentlemen  pensioners,  one  hundred  in 
number,  of  whom  Lauzun  is  captain  (and  the  last 
who  held  that  post).  But  all,  so  far,  goes  well ; 
M.  Vatel  is  satisfied.  The  king  plays  at  piquet  in 
the  evening. 

K  grande  promenade  a  la  mode  de  Versailles ; 
a  collation  beneath  the  spreading  trees  in  the 
park,  then  beautiful  with  the  verdure  of  spring ; 
a  stag-hunt  by  moonlight,  and  afterwards  a  supper, 
formed  the  programme  for  the  following  day.  A 
brilliant  display  of  fireworks  was  to  have  taken 
place  when  the  moon  went  down  ;  but  for  some 
reason,  though  attempted,  it  was  not  successful. 
Worse  than  all,  as  the  result  showed,  the  roti — 
the  pike  de  resistance  —  was  wanting  at  two  tables 
that  evening,  and  Vatel  was  cut  to  the  heart  by 
it.  Any  incompleteness  in  the  arrangements  he 
regarded  as  a  stain  on  his  great  reputation.  For 
had  not  he,  ten  years  before,  presided  over  the 
vast  preparations  for  those  fetes  whose  magnifi- 
cence had  roused  the  angry  jealousy  of  the  king.'' 
And  shall  it  be  said  before  the  king,  that  Vatel, 
who  then  served  that  prince  among  men,  the  fas- 
cinating, the  magnificent  Marquis  de  Belle  Isle, 
has  fallen  off,  and  is  something  less  than  his 
former  self,  now  that  he  serves  a  prince  of  the 
blood }  Forbid  it,  Heaven !  Feverish  anxiety 
had  already  driven  sleep  from  Vatel's  eyes  for  ten 
or  twelve  nights  before  this  contretemps  of  the  roti 
occurred.     The  prince  hears  of  his  distress.     He 


264  OLD    PARIS 

goes  to  his  room  to  console  him.  "  Vatel !  "  he 
says,  "the  king's  supper  was  superb."  "  Mon- 
seigneur,  the  roti  was  wanting  at  two  tables." 
"Not  at  all,"  replies  the  prince;  "nothing  could 
be  better  ;  everything  perfect." 

Vatel  seeks  repose,  but  again  at  break  of  day 
he  is  up.  He  has  ordered  fresh  fish  from  every 
possible  part  of  the  coast.  Only  he,  however, 
seems  to  care  whether  it  is  brought  in  or  not  ;  for 
both  guests  and  attendants,  worn  out  with  fatigue, 
are  all  fast  asleep.  Going  out,  he  meets  a  fisher- 
boy  bringing  up  two  loads  from  the  coast.  "  Is 
that  all .'' "  exclaims  Vatel.  "All,  sir,"  answers 
the  boy,  who  knows  nothing  of  the  numerous 
orders  elsewhere.  Vatel  is  confounded.  He  can- 
not work  a  miracle,  and  give  of  these  few  fishes  a 
portion  to  every  guest.  He  subdues  his  emotion, 
and  waits  yet  a  little.  In  vain  ;  no  more  fish  is 
brought  in.  This  second  stroke  of  adverse  fate, 
following  so  immediately  upon  the  first,  is  more 
than  he  can  bear.  He  meets  Gourville,*  tells 
him  of  his  disgrace,  and  says  "  he  cannot  survive 
it."  Gourville  treats  this  as  a  jest,  and  laughs  at 
it.     But  Vatel  is  terribly  in  earnest.     He  hastens 

*  Gourville  was  a  man  of  some  education,  who  having  entered 
the  service  of  La  Rochefoucauld  as  valet-de-chaiiibre,  displayed 
so  much  ability  and  wit  that  he  admitted  him  to  his  confidence 
and  friendship,  and  so  far  advanced  his  interests  that,  after  being 
on  terms  of  intimacy  also  with  Monsieur  le  Prince,  he  was  pro- 
posed as  successor  to  Colbert  in  the  ministry.  He,  like  so  many 
other  of  his  contemporaries,  left  manuscript  memoirs. 


VATEL-S  SUICIDE  265 

to  his  room,  and  locks  himself  in.  Meanwhile, 
several  loads  of  fish  are  arriving,  and  Vatel  is 
sought  for  to  give  orders  respecting  it.  As  knock- 
ing and  calling  are  unheeded,  the  door  of  his 
chamber  is  forced  open  by  the  servants,  and  poor 
Vatel,  in  a  pool  of  blood,  his  sword  passed  through 
his  body,  lies  dead  before  them  !  He  had  fixed 
his  sword  in  the  door  and  rushed  upon  it  ;  twice 
he  was  wounded  but  slightly,  the  third  time  it 
pierced  his  heart. 

Great  was  the  confusion  and  dismay  this  rash 
act  of  poor  Vatel  occasioned.  Monsieur  le  Prince 
was  in  despair ;  Monsieur  le  Due  wept ;  and  the 
king  reproached  M.  le  Prince.  He  said  that  for 
years  he  had  deferred  visiting  Chantilly  because  of 
the  trouble,  the  inconvenience,  and  embarrassment 
he  knew  it  would  occasion,  as  the  prince  insisted 
on  providing  for  the  whole  of  his  suite.  He  ought 
only  to  have  had  two  tables,  and  there  were  up- 
wards of  twenty-five  ;  he  declared  he  would  never 
allow  it  again.  Vatel' s  courage  was  praised  by 
some,  by  others  he  was  blamed.  But  the  praise 
prevailed,  because  generally  conceded  that  it  was 
"a force  d' avoir  dc  f Jiojincjir  a  sa  nianih'c''  his 
suicide  had  been  committed.  Gourville,  however, 
who  seems  to  have  been  equal  to  any  emergency, 
undertook  to  supply,  for  the  occasion,  the  place 
of  Vatel.  The  fish  was  cooked,  the  company 
dined,  then  promenaded,  and  took  refreshments 
on  the  greensward,  in  a  spot  perfumed  with  sweet- 


266  OLD   PARIS 

smelling  jonquils.  Returning  to  the  chateau  they 
played  at  piquet,  and  considerable  sums  changed 
hands.  Afterwards  they  supped,  and,  as  the 
moon  rose,  they  again  set  off  to  chase  the  deer 
in  the  park  and  forests  of  Chantilly.  No  further 
contretemps  occurred.  The  weather  was  bright, 
the  chase  exhilarating,  and  all  was  mirth  and 
gaiety.  Before  night  closed  in  poor  Vatel  was 
forgotten,  and  probably,  but  for  the  pen  of 
Sevigne,  his  name  and  fame  and  tragi-comic  end 
would  never  have  been  handed  down  to  posterity. 
The  next  morning  the  king  and  his  courtiers 
and  numerous  retinue  took  their  departure,  and 
M.  le  Prince,  with  Gourville,  then  counted  the 
cost  of  the  fetes.  They  had  half  ruined  him,  as 
many  similar  entertainments  had  nearly  ruined 
others.  For  as  it  was  "  la  genie  dn  temps "  to 
exalt  the  king's  vices  into  virtues,  so  it  was  la 
manie  du  temps  to  follow  the  course  of  reckless 
extravagance  of  which  he  set  the  example.  And 
as  he  impoverished  the  State,  they  impoverished 
their  families  —  too  often  leaving  their  heirs  "  un 
trh  bean  nom,''  but  not  a  sou  in  their  coffers. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Arrest  of  Lauzun.  —  From  the  Bastille  to  Pignerol.  —  An  Un- 
congenial Couple.  —  Lauzun  leaves  France.  —  The  King 
and  the  Dauphin.  —  The  Dauphin's  Preceptors.  —  Une 
Femme  Savante.  —  The  Duchess  de  Montausier.  —  "The 
Xing's  Religion." — Madame  Dacier's  Translations.  —  A 
Famous  Literary  Dispute.  —  The  Iliad  of  Lamothe.  —  A 
Youthful  Critic. 

iAUZUN  flattered  himself  that  he  still 
retained  the  favour  of  the  king,  who 
continued  to  treat  him  with  a  degree 
of  familiarity  which  to  Louvois,  even  more  than 
to  others,  was  exceedingly  mortifying.  However, 
one  evening  in  November,  1671,  as  he  was  about 
to  visit  Madame  de  Montespan  —  who,  as  he 
professed  to  be  a  connoisseur  in  gems,  had  asked 
him  to  examine  some  rubies  and  diamonds  she 
proposed  having  reset  —  he  was  arrested  at  the 
door  of  her  apartment  by  Marechal  Rochefort, 
who  was  there  waiting  his  arrival,  and  conveyed 
him  to  the  Bastille.  He  was  not  informed  of 
what  crime  he  was  accused,  and  was  refused  per- 
mission to  write,  either  to  the  king  or  to  Madame 
de  Montespan.  From  the  Bastille  he  was  taken 
to  Pignerol  —  where  Fouquet  had  been  languish- 
ing away  life  for  the  last  seven  years  —  and 
267 


268  OLD   PARIS 

imprisoned  in  one  of  the  lower  dungeons  of  the 
fortress.  It  was  thus  the  stern  morahst,  Louis 
XIV.,  punished  the  secret  marriage  of  Lauzun 
with  Mademoiselle. 

After  an  imprisonment  of  long  duration,  at  the 
solicitation  of  Madame  de  Montespan  (to  whose 
son,  the  Due  du  Maine,  Mademoiselle  promised, 
as  the  reward  of  her  intercession,  the  principality 
of  Dombes  and  the  Comte  d'Eu,  at  her  death) 
Lauzun  was  released  and  graciously  permitted  to 
thank  the  king.  By  the  same  eccentricities  that 
had  succeeded  in  former  years,  he  hoped  to  regain 
royal  favour.  Admitted  to  Louis's  presence,  he, 
with  much  effervescence  —  the  bubbling  over  of 
his  gratitude,  probably,  for  his  ten  years'  captivity 
—  cast  down  his  gloves  and  his  sword  at  the 
king's  feet,  and  stood,  speechless,  before  him,  as 
if  with  emotion.  '' Le  ivi,"  says  Madame  de  La 
Fayette,  with  delicate  irony,  "_y?/  scmblant  de  s  en 
moquer."  Lauzun  was  prohibited  from  appearing 
at  court,  but  Mademoiselle,  who  vainly  sought  the 
king's  recognition  of  her  marriage,  was  permitted 
to  cede  to  him  her  estates  of  St.  Fargeau  and 
Thiers,  and  to  allow  him,  besides,  an  annuity  of 
considerable  amount.  Lauzun  complained  of  it 
as  insufificient  —  for  neither  his  pretensions  nor 
his  spendthrift  habits  had  been  at  all  moderated  by 
captivity.  Poor  Mademoiselle  expected  to  find 
an  ardent  lover  in  this  husband  for  whom  she 
had  sacrificed  so  much.     She  forgot  that  she  was 


AA'   LWCOXGENIAL    COUPLE  269 

fifty-four,  and  Lauzun  some  five  or  six  years 
younger.  She  may  have  been  a  charming  woman 
still,  but  happily,  as  most  women  of  that  age  will 
think,  all  that  can  then  be  reasonably  looked  for 
of  love  is  just  the  slightest  dash  of  sentiment  to 
vivify  friendship  between  congenial  souls. 

But  there  was  no  congeniality  between  Made- 
moiselle and  Lauzun.  There  had  been  weakness 
and  folly  on  her  side,  ambition  only  on  his  ;  and 
now  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  gain,  he  cared 
not  even  to  treat  her  with  outward  respect.  This 
heroine  of  the  Fronde  could  not  brook  such  con- 
duct, and  made  no  scruple  of  boxing  his  ears. 
He  is  said  to  have  resented  it  by  returning  the 
compliment ;  and  at  last,  after  a  violent  quarrel, 
she  haughtily  commanded  him  to  leave  her  pres- 
ence and  never  appear  before  her  again.  He 
obeyed,  left  France,  and  passed  over  to  England. 
Mademoiselle  found  consolation  in  the  society  of 
les  gens  de  lettrcs  and  in  writing  her  memoirs  ;  she 
rarely  visited  the  court.  Hers  was  one  of  the  few 
hotels  at  which  a  literary  circle  then  regularly 
assembled. 

The  court  did  not  give  much  countenance  to 
those  literary  coteries.  At  the  suggestion  of 
Colbert,  Louis  had,  ^^ pour  son  proprc  gloire,'' 
granted  pensions  to  several  poets  and  men  of 
letters  who  were  growing  old  and  were  generally 
in  poverty.  The  literature  that  found  most 
favour    with    him    was    that    which    took    for    its 


2/0  OLD    PARIS 

theme  his  transcendent  glory,  magnificence,  mag- 
nanimity, heroism,  and  the  rest  of  his  superlative 
merits.  And  few  were  the  poets  of  the  time  who 
did  not  —  for  flattery  was  the  surest  means  of 
advancing  their  interests  —  in  this  way  "  fool  him 
to  the  top  of  his  bent."  Lulli  set  many  such 
charming  stanzas  to  music  ;  and  the  king  had  thus 
the  double  pleasure  of  hearing  his  praises  sung  by 
others,  and  —  as  was  his  habit  —  musically  mur- 
muring them  forth  himself.  Owing  to  this  exces- 
sive adulation  in  all  who  approached  him,  he  lived 
in  a  sort  of  fool's  paradise,  the  only  one  he  prob- 
ably succeeded  in  reaching. 

Like  Anne  of  Austria,  he  had  no  taste  for  read- 
ing. The  post  of  reader  to  the  king  was  a  sine- 
cure. "Of  what  use  is  reading.^"  he  said  to  the 
Marechal  de  Vivonne,  who  was  a  great  reader,  and 
whose  interest  in  works,  new  and  old,  Louis  could 
not  comprehend.  Le  Marechal  was  a  tall,  stout 
man,  with  a  rather  large  face  and  florid  complex- 
ion ;  "  Sire,"  he  replied,  "  reading  does  for  the 
mind  what  you  perceive  good  cheer  has  done  for 
my  cheeks."  The  dauphin  inherited  the  same  in- 
capacity for  giving  sustained  attention  to  reading 
or  study.  He  acknowledged,  in  manhood,  that  he 
had  never  read  anything  but  the  births  and  mar- 
riages in  the  Gazette  de  France  from  the  time  he 
was  freed  from  the  control  of  his  pastors  and 
masters.  He  was,  therefore,  as  ignorant  as  the 
king  himself,  though  he  had  had  for  his  governor 


THE   KIXG   AXD    THE   DAUPHIN  27 1 

the  conscientious  and  severely  high-principled  Due 
de  Montausier, 

••  Qui  pour  le  Pape  ne  dirait 
Une  chose  qu'il  ne  croirait;" 

and  for  his  preceptors,  such  men  as  Bossuet,  who 
wrote  for  his  instruction  the  famous  "  Histoire 
Universelle"  —  which  gained  him  more  renown  as 
a  writer  and  historian  than  he  had  acquired  as  a 
preacher  ;  the  eloquent  Flechier,  bishop  of  Nismes, 
who  also  composed  a  volume,  "L'Histoire  de 
Theodore,"  for  his  royal  pupil ;  and  the  learned 
Pierre  Huet,  bishop  of  Avranches,  who  employed 
his  able  pen  in  his  service  on  various  subjects, 
which  were  treated  in  the  form  of  essays. 

Mademoiselle  Lefebvre,  afterwards  the  cele- 
brated Madame  Dacier,  was  requested  by  Bishop 
Huet  to  prepare  and  comment  the  ancient  Latin 
authors  for  the  use  of  the  dauphin.  But  all  this 
learning  and  care  failed  to  make  even  an  ordinarily 
well-informed  man  of  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
course  of  study  too  dry,  too  severe,  for  one  who 
had  naturally  but  little  intelligence,  and  but  limited 
capacity  for  acquiring  knowledge.  The  king  did 
not  like  him  ;  all  his  parental  affection  was  re- 
served for  his  natural  children,  and  the  dauphin, 
who  felt  this,  was  constrained  and  ill  at  ease  in  his 
presence.  He  was  overawed  by  the  grand  man- 
ners and  the  habitual  reserve  and  silence  (in  which 
he  imitated  him)   of  his   royal   father,  who  kept 


2/2  OLD    /'A A' IS 

him  in  servile  bondage  —  a  child  in  leading-strings 
to  the  end  of  his  days. 

It  is  probable  that  neither  the  king  nor  Bossuet 
was  aware  that  the  Latin  authors  prepared  for  the 
dauphin  —  useless  though  they  were  to  him  — 
were  commented  by  Madame  Dacier,  who  was  of 
a  strict  Protestant  family.  For,  some  few  years 
after,  having  dedicated  to  the  king  her  translation 
of  "  Aurelius  Victor,"  with  notes  upon  it,  she 
could  find  no  one  who  would  venture  to  introduce 
her,  to  enable  her  to  present  her  book  to  him. 
This  coming  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Due  de 
Montausier,  he  undertook  to  introduce  her  himself, 
and  took  her  to  court  with  him,  for  that  purpose, 
in  his  own  coach. 

On  the  king  being  informed  that  Mademoiselle 
Lefebvre  (it  was  just  before  her  marriage)  was  in 
the  ante-chamber,  and  of  the  object  of  her  visit, 
he  with  an  air  of  great  resentment  told  the  duke 
(himself  a  pervert  for  Julie's  sake)  that  he  had 
done  exceedingly  wrong  in  extending  his  protection 
to  persons  of  that  lady's  heretical  profession.  He 
forbade  the  affixing  of  his  name  to  any  book  writ- 
ten by  a  Huguenot,  and  gave  orders  that  every 
copy  of  Mademoiselle  Lefebvre' s  work  should  be 
seized. 

The  duke  is  said  to  have  replied,  "  It  is  thus, 
then,  that  your  Majesty  favours  polite  literature. 
As  a  king  ought  not  to  be  a  bigot,  I  shall  thank 
the  lady,  in  your  name,  for  the  dedication  of  her 


THE   DUCHESS   DE   iMONTAUS/ER  2/3 

book,  and  present  her  with  a  hundred  pistoles, 
which  your  Majesty  may  pay  or  not  pay,  just  as 
you  please."  If  he  really  did  say  this,  he  must 
have  been  a  very  bold  man.  His  plainness  of 
speech  with  the  king  was  certainly  notorious.  But 
notwithstanding  this,  and  his  reputation  for  moral 
rectitude  and  disdain  of  all  the  arts  of  a  courtier, 
both  he  and  Madame  de  Montausier  —  who  before 
the  appointment  of  the  preceptor  was  governess 
to  the  dauphin  —  were  accused  of  preventing  M. 
de  Montespan  from  having  access  to  his  wife 
when,  becoming  aware  of  the  king's  designs,  he 
would  have  removed  her  from  the  palace.  Those 
who  took  a  different  view  of  their  conduct  have 
said  that  the  false  accusation  so  preyed  on  the 
mind  of  the  duchess  that  it  hastened  her  death, 
which  occurred  only  a  few  years  after  that  of  her 
mother,  and  when  the  bean  mondc  of  Paris  was 
laughing  at  M.  de  Montespan  as  "  L' Amphitryon." 
Flechier,  whose  eloquent  oraisons  fiinebrcs  rivalled 
those  of  Bossuet,  had  been  a  protege  of  the  Due 
de  Montausier,  and  was  chosen  by  him  to  deliver 
the  oration  on  the  death  of  the  once  celebrated, 
fair  Julie  d'Angennes,  the  belle  of  the  famous 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet.  It  was  Flechier's  debut, 
and  a  successful  one,  in  that  branch  of  oratory. 

But  to  return  to  Madame  Dacier :  la  femme 
savante,  par  excellence,  amongst  French  women 
of  the  17th  century.  When,  in  1685,  the  Edict 
of  Nantes  was  revoked,  and  to  escape  persecution 


274  OLD   PARIS 

it  was  necessary  to  leave  the  country  or  abjure, 
she  and  her  husband  chose  the  latter  alternative. 
Their  sincerity  was  questioned,  as,  naturally,  was 
that  of  many  others  who  allowed  themselves  to  be 
convinced  against  their  will,  and  adopted  a  faith 
they  had  no  faith  in,  in  order  to  save  themselves 
and  their  children  from  beggary,  or  from  being 
hunted  from  place  to  place,  like  wild  beasts,  by 
the  infamous  myrmidons  of  the  wretched  bigot, 
Louis  XIV. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Dacier  were  both  writ- 
ers, she  being  a  greater  classical  scholar  than  her 
husband ;  but  it  was  a  difficulty  almost  insuper- 
able, and  especially  at  the  time  of  the  revocation, 
for  writers  of  the  Protestant  faith  to  obtain  recog- 
nition of  their  merits,  however  great  they  might 
be.  But  when  they  embraced  "  the  king's  reli- 
gion," all  went  smoothly  with  them,  and,  like 
Pelisson,  they  were  at  once  greatly  considered  in 
society ;  pensions  were  conferred  on  them,  and 
had  Madame  Dacier  desired  to  dedicate  another 
book  to  the  king,  there  would  no  longer  have  been 
any  fear  of  its  meeting  with  an  ungracious  re- 
jection. M.  Dacier  was  appointed  Garde  des 
livres  dii  Cabinet  du  Roi  a  Paris,  and  madame's 
translation  of  the  comedies  of  Plautus,  Ter- 
ence, and  Aristophanes  —  their  first  appearance 
in  French  —  were  received  with  unbounded  ad- 
miration. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Tanneguy-Lefebvre, 


MADAME   DACn-.R-S    TA'A XSLA  770.VS        2/5 

a  man  of  great  erudition,  who,  being  accustomed 
to  instruct  his  son  daily  in  Latin  and  Greek  in 
the  room  where  she  sat  at  her  embroidery-frame, 
was  one  day  surprised  to  find,  by  her  secretly 
prompting  her  brother  when  he  was  at  fault  in 
his  lesson,  that  he  had  instructed  his  daughter 
also.  From  that  time  she  shared  her  brother's 
studies,  under  her  father's  superintendence.  At  a 
very  early  age  she  published  a  translation  of  Flo- 
rus  ;  and  soon  after,  another  of  Eutropius.  Anac- 
reon,  Sappho,  and  Homer's  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
were  also  translated  by  her.  Bayle  gave  her  a 
very  high  place  in  literature.  "  Voild,"  he  wrote, 
^'notre  sexe  liaiitement  vainai,  par  cette  savante.'' 
Menage  dedicated  to  her  his  Latin  work,  "  Les 
Femmes  philosophes."  Her  contemporary,  the 
distinguished  critic,  Adrien  Baillet,  considered 
Madame  Dacier's  notes  and  comments  on  the 
ancient  Greek  and  Latin  authors  most  valuable, 
being  both  judicious  and  erudite.  Voltaire  also 
speaks  of  her  as  a  prodigy  of  learning.  "Av/Z/r 
fcininc,''  he  says,  ";/'<?  jamais  rcjidii  phis  de  ser- 
vices aiix  Icttrcs.  Scs  traductions  de  Terctwe  et 
d' Homh'e  hii  font  un  Jionncnr  imnioi'tel." 

In  the  famous  literary  dispute  on  the  respec- 
tive merits  of  the  ancient  and  modern  authors, 
Madame  Dacier  declared  for  the  former,  and 
replied  with  considerable  warmth  to  Lamothe, 
whose  opinion  was  in  favour  of  the  moderns. 
She  defended  with  ardour  the  gods  that  Homer 


276  OLD    PARIS 

had  sung,  regarding  the  criticisms  of  her  oppo- 
nent as  little  less  than  blasphemies.  "Homer," 
said  Lamothe,  "  calls  Jupiter  the  father  of  the 
gods.  Yet  he  is  not  the  father  of  Saturn,  of 
Cybele,  of  Juno,  of  the  nymphs  who  tended  him 
in  infancy,  or  of  Mars,  Ceres,  Vesta,  or  Flora. 
Neither  is  he  the  father  of  the  giants,  nor  of  men. 
Again,  Homer  relates  that  Jupiter  drove  discord 
out  of  heaven  ;  how  is  it,  then,  that  the  gods  are 
incessantly  wrangling .-' " 

Lamothe  had  given  high  praise  to  the  works 
of  Madame  Dacier,  and  had  addressed  an  ode 
to  her  on  her  translation  of  the  Odes  of  Anac- 
reon.  But  she  disregarded  his  compliments,  and 
in  her  enthusiasm  for  Homer,  characterized  the 
remarks  of  the  critic  as  "  frigid,  dull,  ridiculous, 
and  impertinent,  displaying  gross  ignorance,  over- 
weening vanity,  and  a  want  of  common  sense." 
In  conclusion,  she  related  an  anecdote  of  "  Alci- 
biades,  whose  indignation  was  so  roused  on  being 
told  by  an  orator  that  he  had  not  the  works  of 
Homer  that  he  rose  and  struck  him.  What 
would  he  be  moved  to  do  now,"  continued  the 
learned  lady  in  the  heat  of  her  excitement,  "to 
an  orator  who  ventured  to  read  to  him  the  Iliad 
of  M.  de  Lamothe .-'  "*     To  this  Lamothe  calmly 

*  Lamothe,  who  was  not  a  Greek  scholar,  had  put  the  Iliad 
into  verse  from  a  prose  translation,  and  had  added  notes  and 
reflections,  which  the  learned  Madame  Dacier  disapproved  as 
misleading  and  incorrect. 


A    YOUTHFUL    CRITIC  2/7 

replied,  "  It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  when  he 
recited  some  part  of  his  verses  to  Madame  Dacier, 
this  act  of  Alcibiades  did  not  then  occur  to  her." 
He,  however,  retracted  none  of  the  praise  he  had 
bestowed  on  her  works,  but  spoke  with  admiration 
of  her  great  talents,  when  he  afterwards  published 
"  Reflexions  sur  la  critique." 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Dacier  had  studied 
Greek  and  Latin  together.  He  had  been  her 
father's  pupil,  and  the  similarity  of  their  tastes  as 
students  led  to  their  falling  in  love.  His  admira- 
tion of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets  was  as  enthusi- 
astic as  hers  ;  but  though  his  works  were  valued 
by  the  learned  for  their  research,  they  were  not 
so  generally  esteemed  as  the  translations  of 
Madame  Dacier.  She  died  in  1720,  at  the  age  of 
sixty-eight.  Her  husband  was  of  the  same  age ; 
nevertheless,  he  was  desirous  of  taking  a  second 
wife,  and  proposed  to  Mademoiselle  de  Launay 
(Madame  de  Staal),  who  thought  him  rather  too 
old.      He  died  in  1722. 

They  had  two  daughters,  one  of  whom  took  the 
veil,  and  a  son,  who  died  at  the  age  of  eleven. 
This  boy  gave  promise  of  becoming  as  distin- 
guished a  Greek  and  Latin  scholar  as  his  mother. 
It  was  supposed,  also,  that  a  few  more  years  would 
have  developed  his  possession  of  great  critical 
powers,  as,  at  the  age  of  nine,  he  had  pronounced, 
as  his  own  opinion,  that,"  Hh'odote  etait  im  grand 
oichantetir,  et  Poly  be  uu  Jiojunic  de  grand  sens" 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

The  Camp  at  Chalons  —  Going  to  the  Wars.  —  "Vive  Henri 
IV."  —  Death  of  Charles  Paris. —  Lamentation  and  Woe.  — 
"  Les  Solitaires  "  of  Port  -  Royal.  —  The  King  Returns  to 
France.  —  The  Dutch  Reject  Peace. 

jHE  king  had  visited  the  grand  camp  at 
Chalons,  and  reviewed  the  troops  as- 
sembled there  —  an  imposing  military 
spectacle,  at  which  the  three  queens  had  assisted. 
A  hundred  thousand  men  were  under  arms,  and 
war  was  declared  against  the  Dutch.  The  no- 
bles were  borrowing,  mortgaging  or  selling  their 
estates,  or  by  some  other  expedient  attempting 
to  raise  money  to  provide  the  extravagant  equip- 
ment necessary  for  appearing  with  eclat,  more 
important  than  valour,  at  this  war.  The  king  and 
his  staff  were  to  fare  sumptuously  every  day,  and 
court  etiquette  was  to  be  strictly  observed. 

All  ruffles  and  ribands,  perfumes  and  wig,  the 
royal  warrior  steals  off  from  St.  Germain  on  an 
earlier  day  than  he  had  appointed,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  tearful  adienx  of  La  Valliere  and  the 
queen.  Montespan,  less  loving,  therefore  more 
lively  and  amusing,  awaits  him  at  Nanteuil,  with 
the  rest  of  the  paraphernalia  of  war.  The  new 
278 


"  VIVE   HENRI  IVr  279 

gold  and  silver  embroideries  of  the  courtiers  form^ 
ing  his  numerous  staff  shine  with  a  brilliancy  that 
rivals  the  sun  at  noonday.  These  courtiers  sur- 
round his  carriage  —  for  Louis  no  longer  rides 
to  the  scene  of  action.  His  guards,  also  a  daz- 
zling host,  follow;  and  his  retinue  of  attendants, 
scarcely  less  bedizened,  brings  up  the  rear. 

How  different  this  formal  pageant,  with  which 
the  great  Louis  went  forth  to  look  at  the  battle, 
from  the  dashing  and  devil-may-care  manner  of 
Henry  IV. 's  setting  out,  in  his  best  days,  to  fight 
one.  He  encumbered  himself  with  no  long  curly 
wigs,  no  satins  and  laces,  silk  stockings  or  red- 
heeled  shoes.  But  arrayed  in  a  grey  woollen  suit 
—  usually  something  the  worse  for  wear  —  booted 
and  spurred  in  military  fashion,  and  with  a  dingy 
white  plume  in  his  grey  felt  hat,  he,  without  more 
ado,  vaulted  into  his  saddle.  Gallantly  he  waved 
his  adieitx  to  "  the  girl  he  left  behind  him  "  —  his 
"  Charmante  Gabrielle  "  —  and  rode  jauntily  forth 
at  the  head  of  his  troops,  who  enlivened  their 
march  with  many  a  song.  And  as  often  as  not, 
you  might  have  heard  the  gay  ditty, — 

"  Vive  Henri  quatre, 

Vive  ce  roi  vaillant, 
Ce  diable  a  quatre 

Qui  a  le  double  talent, 
De  boire  et  de  battre 

Et  d'etre  vert-galant." 

If  there  was  nothing  remarkably  estimable  in  this, 


280  OLD   PARIS 

it  was,  at  least,  more  manly  than  the  ostentatious 
show  of  his  selfish  and  degenerate  grandson. 

The  details  of  the  raid  on  Holland  are  of  course 
not  to  be  looked  for  in  these  pages.  It  may, 
however,  be  mentioned  that  several  of  the  younger 
nobility  of  France  lost  their  lives  during  the 
passage  of  the  Rhine  —  attempted  after  the 
French  had  laid  waste  many  a  fair  province,  and 
had  been  guilty  of  revolting  crimes  in  the  towns 
surrendered  to  them.  The  Dutch  were  unpre- 
pared for  war,  and  were  always  less  formidable  on 
land  than  on  the  sea. 

Amongst  the  slain  was  the  young  Due  de 
Longueville  —  Charles  Paris,  born  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  during  the  Fronde.  He,  in  fact,  was  the 
cause  of  the  carnage  that  ensued.  The  Rhine, 
where  it  was  shallow,  was  partly  forded,  and  partly 
traversed  in  boats.  The  townspeople  fled ;  the 
few  troops  encountered  on  landing  demanded  quar- 
ter ;  but  Longueville,  rash,  inexperienced,  and 
heated  with  wine,  cried  out,  "  Point  de  quartier 
pour  cctte  canaille^'  and  at  the  same  time,  fired  on 
their  officer  and  killed  him.  The  men  who  had 
been  ready  to  lay  down  their  arms,  roused  by  this 
act,  took  courage,  and  fired  on  Longueville  and  his 
companions.  The  young  duke  fell  dead, 'also  the 
Chevalier  de  Marsillac,  the  brother  of  La  Roche- 
foucauld. The  Prince  de  Marsillac,  the  son  of  the 
latter,  was  wounded  ;  also  the  Comte  de  Guiche, 
the  son  of  Marechal  de  Grammont.     Monsieur  le 


DEATH   OF  CHARLES   PARIS  281 

Prince  was  mounting  his  horse  at  the  time ;  a 
Dutch  officer,  observing  this,  rushed  forward  and 
aimed  at  him  with  a  pistol  ;  the  prince  struck  it 
down,  the  man  missed  his  aim,  and  the  prince 
broke  his  wrist  —  the  only  hurt  he  ever  received 
throughout  the  whole  of  his  campaigns. 

The  skirmish  was  short  and  sanguinary.  The 
Dutch,  while  it  lasted,  dealt  many  a  telling  blow. 
But  soon,  none  were  left  to  continue  the  fight. 
Martinet  then  threw  a  bridge  of  boats  (his  inven- 
tion) across  the  river,  and  Louis  walked  over  it  as 
a  conquering  hero. 

But  great  was  the  lamentation  in  Paris.  When 
the  news  of  her  son's  death  was  communicated  to 
Madame  de  Longueville,  she  fainted  away,  exclaim- 
ing, "Ah!  my  dear  son!  my  dear  son!"  Con- 
vulsions followed,  interrupted  by  stifled  cries,  sobs, 
and  appeals  to  heaven.  So  great  was  her  agony 
that  those  who  witnessed  it  "  were  tempted  to  wish 
that  death  would  mercifully  end  her  sufferings." 
"And  there  is  a  man,"  writes  Sevigne,  "whose 
grief  is  scarcely  less  than  hers.  I  fancy  if  they 
had  met,  and  met  alone  in  the  first  moments  of 
their  anguish,  all  other  feelings  would  have  given 
place  to  this  grief  ;  and  they  would  have  lamented 
and  wept  together  over  their  common  calamity." 
That  man  was  La  Rochefoucauld.  He  was  incon- 
solable, it  appears,  though  he  strove  to  dissemble 
his  sorrow  for  the  fate  of  his  unacknowledged 
natural  son. 


282  OLD    PARIS 

Madame  de  Longueville's  second  son  had  ceded 
his  title  and  other  rights  to  his  brother,  but  on  his 
death  claimed  them  again.  The  duchess  supported 
his  claim,  and  he  was  legally  reinstated  in  the  posi- 
tion he  had  renounced.  After  this  event  she  built 
herself  a  suite  of  rooms  within  the  precincts  of 
Port-Royal  les  Champs,  following  the  example  of 
her  friend,  Madame  de  Sable,  who  had  won  her 
over  to  Jansenism,  and  who  had  given  many  fair 
penitents  to  Port-Royal  de  Paris.  Madame  de 
Longueville  had  long  before  withdrawn  from  the 
court ;  but  now  —  though  without  taking  the  veil 
—  her  retirement  became  stricter,  her  penance 
more  severe.  Sometimes  at  the  convent  of  the 
Carmelites,  sometimes  in  the  damp,  dreary  retreat 
of  Port-Royal  les  Champs,  she  would,  for  weeks 
together,  sleep  on  the  bare  ground,  wear  sackcloth 
and  horsehair,  and  an  iron  band  round  her  waist. 
In  the  intervals,  "les  solitaires,"  as  they  were 
termed,  of  Port-Royal  —  Arnauld,  Le  Maitre,  Saci, 
Nicole,  and  several  others,  men  of  great  reputation 
for  learning,  eloquence,  and  personal  merit  —  assem- 
bled in  her  apartments  to  read,  or  to  discourse  on 
subjects  having  reference  to  Jansenism.  The  ar- 
dent temperament  of  the  Duchess  de  Longueville 
led  her  to  enter  with  great  warmth  into  the  dis- 
putes which  so  long  disquieted  the  Pope,  the  King, 
and  the  Jesuits,  on  the  vexed  question  of  Jansenism. 
Many  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  literati  in- 
clined to  its  doctrines,  which  appear  to  have  been 


THE   KING    RETURNS    TO   ERANCE         283 

a  modification  of  those  of  Calvin.  They  were, 
therefore,  obnoxious  to  the  king,  who  was  resolved 
to  extirpate  them,  though  he  really  knew  nothing 
of  Jansenism  except  that,  being  stigmatized  as 
heterodoxy,  it  was  not  his  religion. 

But  at  this  particular  juncture  it  is  martial  ardour 
that  fires  his  breast.  Having  crossed  the  Rhine, 
and  his  troops  having  installed  themselves  in  sev- 
eral forsaken  towns  (the  Dutch  in  the  beginning  of 
the  war  had  an  idea  of  flooding  the  country,  and 
emigrating  to  Batavia),  he  thinks  it  well  to  return 
to  France.  Turenne  and  his  generals  are  left  to 
take  possession  of  Amsterdam,  while  he  receives 
the  tribute  due  to  his  heroism  in  the  acclamations 
of  his  people,  laurel  wreaths,  and  the  complimen- 
tary verses  of  the  court  poets ;  such  as : 

"  Nous  verrons  toute  la  terre 

Assujettie  a  ses  lois; 
Pour  I'amour  ou  pour  la  guerre, 

Des  qu'il  daigne  faire  une  choix, 
Un  Dieu  lui  prete  son  tonnerre 

Un  autre  Dieu  son  carquois." 

Triumphal  arches,  columns  and  statues  were 
ordered  to  be  erected  to  commemorate  the  king's 
series  of  conquests  in  Holland.  But  before  they 
were  completed  the  conquests  had  to  be  aban- 
doned. The  Dutch  had  opened  the  sluices  and 
inundated  the  country;  they  had  made  Prince 
William    of    Orange,    then    in    his    twenty-second 


284  OLD    PARIS 

year,  their  stadt-holder ;  they  had  refused  the 
peace  offered  by  France ;  and  in  Amsterdam,  as 
in  a  fortress  amidst  rolling  waters,  they  hold  out 
against  the  French  troops  —  under  famine  and  all 
the  miseries  of  war. 

But  Ruyter  has  scattered  the  English  and 
French  fleets,  and  brings  relief  to  his  country  by 
sea.  Charles,  too,  has  been  forced  to  withdraw 
from  his  alliance  with  France,  and  Europe  is 
arming  against  the  Grand  Monarque,  who,  instead 
of  shouting  "Victoria!"  is  compelled  to  abate  his 
pretensions 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Louis  XIV.  and  La  Valliere.  —  The  Favourite  and  the  Queen. — 
Mdme.  Scarron  at  Vaugirard. —  La  Valliere's  Third  Flight. — 
Pious  Austerities.  —  An  Audacious  Priest.  —  Bourdaloue. — 
A  Courtly  Preacher.  —  A  Lenten  Sermon.  —  The  King's 
Condescension.  —  Pere  La  Chaise.  —  The  Peripatetics  of 
Versailles.  —  La  Bruyere.  —  Pelisson's  Conversion. 

[T  is  difficult  to  understand  why  the 
commonplace  amours  of  Louis  XIV. 
and  La  Valliere  should  have  been  so 
idealized  that  she,  above  all  his  mistresses,  is 
usually  exalted  as  a  saint.  For  ten  years  she 
lived  very  contentedly  in  the  royal  palaces,  with- 
out any  uncomfortable  awakening  of  conscience, 
or  thought  for  the  queen.  Maria  Theresa  wanted 
spirit  and  animation,  but  she  had  much  affection 
for  her  unworthy  husband.  And  doubtless  she 
had  far  greater  reason,  as  well  as  greater  right,  to 
feel  both  grieved  and  insulted  by  his  flagrant  infi- 
delities than  had  La  Valliere  when  supplanted  in 
her  post  of  first  mistress.  She  did,  indeed, 
endeavour,  for  a  time,  to  follow  the  example  the 
queen  so  long  set  her,  of  uncomplainingly  tolerat- 
ing the  presence  of  a  favoured  rival  placed  above 
her.     But   not   having  the   same  power  of  resig- 

285 


286  OLD   PARIS 

nation  to  circumstances,  she  sought  to  recover  her 
influence  by  an  abrupt  departure  from  the  court. 
And  it  was  a  triumph  very  gratifying  to  a  jealous 
woman's  feelings  when  Louis,  in  person,  brought 
her  away  from  the  convent. 

Her  want  of  sincerity  in  the  step  she  had 
taken  was  evident  from  her  disappointment  when, 
next  year,  she  had  recourse  to  the  same  expedient. 
"  Alas  !  "  she  exclaimed,  on  seeing  only  Lauzun, 
"the  king  came  in  person  to  remove  me  from  the 
Benedictines ;  now  he  deputes  another  to  take  me 
back  to  him."  But  for  three  years  after  this  she 
remained  at  the  court,  tearful  and  sorrowful,  a 
mere  foil  to  the  lively,  witty,  and  sarcastic  De 
Montespan,  who  then  reigned  supreme  over  her 
royal  lover,  and  was  treated  en  7'eine — receiving 
far  more  attention  and  homage  than  the  timid, 
retiring  Maria  Theresa. 

Often,  when  the  courtiers  were  assembled  in 
the  great  gallery  of  Versailles,  promenading  and 
conversing,  while  the  ladies  of  the  court,  sitting  in 
groups,  were  chatting  familiarly  together,  suddenly 
every  voice  would  be  hushed,  the  ladies  rise  from 
their  seats,  the  men  bow  low,  and  with  downcast 
eyes  stand  immovable.  The  haughty  Marquise 
de  Montespan  appears,  and,  followed  by  twenty  or 
more  ladies,  with  stately  step,  slowly  traverses  the 
gallery.  Presently,  another  lady  leaves  the  royal 
apartments,  three  or  four  others  following.  If 
the  company  in  the  gallery  should  chance  to  be 


MADAME    SCARKON  AT    VAUGIKAKD       287 

seated,  they  rise  and  salute  her,  as,  with  an  air  of 
gentleness  and  modesty,  she  passes  them ;  but 
they  assume  no  cringing  attitudes,  and  scarcely 
for  a  moment  interrupt  their  conversation,  "  It 
is  only  the  queen." 

Clagny  and  Trianon  are  built,  and  Madame 
Scarron,  who  prospers  as  the  influence  of  the 
reigning  favourite  increases,  now  resides  in  a 
remote  part  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  near 
the  village  of  Vaugirard,  then  quite  in  the  coun- 
try. She  is  nurse  to  the  "royal  children,"  and 
inhabits  a  large,  handsome  house,  of  which  few 
have  the  privilege  of  the  entree.  The  apartments 
are  spacious  and  elegant,  and  the  house  has  fine 
gardens.  Madame  Scarron  has  her  carriage,  sev- 
eral horses,  and  a  suitable  staff  of  servants.  She 
dresses  magnificently,  but  in  perfect  taste,  as  one 
accustomed  to  live  in  the  society  of  people  of 
distinction.  She  has  charmingly  easy  manners,  is 
considered  amiable  and  pleasing,  and  her  conver- 
sation lively  and  agreeable.  Madame  Scarron  is 
well  en  train,  by-and-by  to  avenge  Madame  de  La 
Valliere.  And  possibly  some  such  vision  may 
have  already  begun,  mentally,  to  open  before  her. 

La  Valliere's  third  flight  is  a  final  one;  such 
men  as  Louis  XIV.  are  not  subdued  by  tears  and 
the  air  of  a  victim.  All  hope  of  regaining  her 
position  being  at  an  end,  she  begins,  after  four- 
teen years  of  blindness,  to  see  that  she  has 
wronged  the  queen.      She  confesses  herself  guilty, 


288  OLD    PARIS 

and  asks  pardon  before  the  court.  The  poor  little 
queen  —  a  neglected  wife  —  is  affected  by  the 
sorrows  of  the  forsaken  mistress.  Bossuet  forti- 
fies the  penitent  in  her  resolution,  and  she  enters 
on  her  novitiate  in  the  Carmelite  convent  of  the 
Rue  St.  Jacques.  L'Abbe  de  Fromentiere,  a 
distinguished  preacher,  delivers  a  discourse  on 
the  occasion ;  the  text,  "  I  have  found  my  sheep 
which  was  lost,"  etc.  The  following  year,  on 
making  her  profession,  Bossuet  is  the  orator. 
The  queen  is  present,  the  court,  and  the  beaiL 
monde  of  Paris.  Bossuet  is  not  ^^ aiissi  diviii 
qiion  Vcsperait,''  Sevigne  informs  us.  No  word 
is  uttered  having  reference  to  the  past  life  of  the 
penitent,  or  to  the  cause  of  her  retreat  from  the 
world.  "  Uii  jesiiite  adojicit  tout,''  says  le  Pere 
Andre.  To  allude  to  it  would  be  to  cast  some 
reflection  on  the  king,  tarnishing  the  brightness 
of  his  glory,  wounding  his  nice  sense  of  honour, 

Madame  de  La  Valliere  lived  thirty-five  years  in 
the  Carmelite  convent,  making  atonement  for  her 
errors  by  the  usual  superstitious  practices  then, 
perhaps  still,  in  vogue  —  practices  that  remind  one 
of  the  customs  of  savage  tribes  for  propitiating  the 
evil  spirit  when  anything  goes  amiss  with  them. 
Scratching  and  wounding  her  flesh,  sleeping  on 
the  damp  ground,  walking  barefoot,  and,  it  is  said, 
abstaining  for  a  whole  year  from  drinking  water  or 
any  kind  of  liquid  —  which  seems  impossible  — 
were  some  of  the  pious  austerities  by  which  the 


A  A'  AUDACIOUS   PRIEST  289 

saintly  Soeur  Louise  de  la  Misericorde  worked  out 
her  salvation.  The  death  of  her  son,  at  the  age 
of  sixteen,  seems  not  to  have  affected  her  ;  and 
she  took  no  interest  in  her  daughter  afterwards, 
Princess  de  Conti,  who  often  visited  her,  and  de- 
sired to  show  the  poor  recluse  the  respect  and 
affection  due  to  a  mother. 

A  short  time  before  Madame  de  La  Valliere 
took  the  veil,  an  effort  was  made  to  dethrone  De 
Montespan  also.  Her  confessor  having  refused 
her  absolution,  she  complained  to  the  king,  who 
was  overwhelmed  with  astonishment  and  indigna- 
tion at  the  audacity  of  the  "obscure  priest,"  and 
sought  the  opinion  of  Bossuet  on  the  subject.  The 
great  orator  ventured —  for  the  most  zealous  min- 
isters of  God  feared  far  more  to  offend  their  earthly 
sovereign  than  their  heavenly  one  —  to  approve 
the  refusal  of  the  "obscure  priest,"  and  to  point 
out  to  the  king  the  sinfulness  of  his  conduct  in 
setting  an  example  that  gave  occasion  for  such 
scandal.  He  even  urged  him  to  prohibit  Madame 
de  Montespan  from  again  appearing  at  court ;  but 
Louis  was  not  then  prepared  for  so  decisive  a  step 
—  Madame  Scarron  was  not  yet  the  pious  Madame 
de  Maintenon. 

Bourdaloue  preached  the  Lenten  sermons  that 
year  at  Versailles.  Bossuet,  except  in  funeral  ora- 
tions, or  on  special  occasions  similar  to  that  of  La 
Valliere's  profession  as  a  nun,  was  no  longer  heard 
in  the  pulpit.      His  fame  as  a  writer  had  eclipsed 


290  OLD   PARIS 

his  fame  as  a  preacher,  and  Bourdaloue,  Mascaron, 
and  Flechier  now  held  the  first  rank  as  pulpit  ora- 
tors. The  greatest,  perhaps,  was  Bourdaloue  — 
his  style,  grand  and  powerful,  lending  force  to  those 
arguments  by  which  he  sought  to  convince  the  un- 
derstanding and  to  speak  to  the  conscience.  He 
disdained  to  appeal  to  the  feelings,  or  to  excite  the 
temporary  emotion  that  so  often  draws  tears  from 
an  audience  ;  so  that  he  was  rarely  touching,  rarely 
persuasive,  but  always  convincing.  Sevigne  relates 
that,  when  he  was  once  preaching  to  a  profoundly 
silent  but  crowded  and  fashionable  congregation  at 
Notre  Dame,  the  old  Marechal  de  Grammont  — 
whose  attention  had  become  entirely  absorbed  by 
Bourdaloue's  arguments  —  forgetting  that  he  was 
in  church,  suddenly  exclaimed,  with  great  empha- 
sis, as  he  struck  his  cane  on  the  floor,  ^^  Mordieii ! 
il  a  raisony  This  startling  interruption  discon- 
certed the  preacher,  and  created  so  much  confusion 
amongst  the  congregation  —  of  whom  as  many 
were  disposed  to  laugh  as  to  be  annoyed  —  that 
the  remaining  part  of  the  sermon  was  but  imper- 
fectly attended  to. 

It  was,  however,  the  custom  even  with  Bour- 
daloue too  often  to  follow  the  stream  ;  and  if  he 
did  not  actually  flatter  the  king  in  his  sermons,  to 
leave  him  a  side-door  open  through  which  to  escape 
from  the  crowd  of  miserable  sinners  —  being  con- 
soled when  he  came  to  his  peroration  to  find  that 
he  was  not  obliged  to  include  that  demigod  amongst 


A    COURTLY  PREACHER  29 1 

them.  But  on  the  particular  Good  Friday  before 
alluded  to,  Bourdaloue  was  to  strive  to  "■  catch  the 
conscience  of  the  king."  The  king  had  once,  on 
the  conclusion  of  a  sermon,  said  to  a  preacher  who 
had  been  so  bold  as  to  depict  a  sinner  in  which  he 
was  compelled  to  recognize  his  own  portrait :  ^^  ]\Ioii 
pere,je  veux  bicn  prendre  711011  part  dans  tin  sermon, 
mats  j'e  naimc  pas  qii  on  me  Ic  fasse!'  Of  course 
he  never  again  allowed  him  the  opportunity.  He 
disliked,  too,  to  hear  that  death  was  no  respecter 
of  persons  ;  that  the  king  of  terrors  stayed  not  his 
hand  either  for  dignities  or  wealth.  "Nous  mour- 
rons  tons  —  tons,"  said  a  preacher  one  day  — 
preaching  before  Louis  XIV.  A  movement  of 
the  king,  sudden  and  involuntary,  reminded  him 
that  he  had  touched  on  a  theme  displeasing  to 
royalty.  In  his  dismay  and  confusion  he  humbly 
qualified  the  force  of  the  assertion  by  an  apologetic 
"  Oni,  sire — prcsqne  tons.'' 

'Tis  true  that  Bourdaloue  —  whose  genial  tem- 
per and  high  personal  merits  caused  him  to  be  as 
much  courted  and  sought  after  in  the  society  of 
the  wealthy  and  great  as  he  was  generally  ad- 
mired for  his  eloquence  in  the  pulpit — could 
venture  to  utter  bolder  truths  in  the  presence  of 
the  king  than  those  poor  preachers,  who  — if  the 
anecdotes  be  true  —  must  have  been  either  in- 
experienced or  obscure.  "  L Eveqne  de  Meanx 
(Bossuet)  et  le  Ph-e  Bonrdalone,  says  La  Bruyere, 
"  mc    rappelcnt    Demosthcne    et    Ciceroni      And 


292  OLD    PARIS 

Bourdaloue  appears,  in  this  Good  Friday  dis- 
course, to  have  struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of 
the  brilHant  throng  that  crowded  the  chapel  of 
Versailles  (the  men  in  the  picturesque  full  dress 
of  the  period;  the  ladies  also  magnificently  at- 
tired, but,  as  was  customary  on  church  festivals, 
in  colours  more  subdued).  But  their  terror  is 
for  the  preacher.  They  watch  the  king's  counte- 
nance; it  gives  no  sign  of  inward  perturbation. 
Yet  it  may  be  the  last  time  that  the  voice  of  the 
great  Bourdaloue  will  be  heard  in  that  gilded 
temple !  Who  can  tell .''  The  preacher  himself 
is  astonished  at  his  own  daring.  Though  Louis  is 
pleased  to  hear  others  castigated,  rarely  indeed 
does  the  great  king  apply  what  he  hears  to  him- 
self. The  barrier  the  preacher  is  accustomed  to 
set  up  between  him  and  the  rest  of  the  world  is, 
however,  wanting  on  this  occasion  — but  the  ser- 
mon is  ended. 

It  is  usual  with  the  king  to  pass  from  his 
chapel  through  a  small  adjoining  apartment,  where 
he  remains  for  a  few  minutes,  when  satisfied  with 
the  sermon,  to  compliment  the  preacher.  Thither 
Bourdaloue  is  summoned.  The  crowd  of  servile 
courtiers  dare  not  raise  their  eyes  until  the  king 
has  given  the  signal  for  approval  or  displeasure. 
Contrary  to  all  expectation,  it  is  approval.  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  sermon,  mon  pere,"  he  says  to 
Bourdaloue.  The  priest,  who  is  a  man  of  com- 
manding presence,  bows  in  acknowledgment  of  his 


THE   KIXCS   COiYDESCENSION  293 

Majesty's  condescension.  "  Yon  have  done  your 
duty,"  continues  the  king.  "I  am  not  displeased; 
it  was  an  excellent  and  eloquent  discourse." 

It  did  not,  however,  induce  him,  as  was  espe- 
cially the  object  of  both  l^ossuet  and  Bourdaloue, 
to  refrain,  until  he  had  banished  Madame  de 
Montespan  from  the  court,  from  confessing  and 
receiving  absolution  himself.  It  should  of  course 
have  been  denied  equally  to  him  as  to  his  mis- 
tress.* His  Jesuit  confessor,  the  Pere  La  Chaise 
(whose  vast  garden  at  Menilmontant,  now  the 
famous  cemetery,  was  presented  to  him  by  the 
king,  planted  with  choice  flowers,  which  he  was 
fond  of  cultivating),  really  had  some  scruples  of 
conscience  concerning  it  :  conciliatory  though  he 
was,  and  a  lover  of  ease,  and  in  his  mode  of  life 

*At  Pentecost  both  went  comfortably  through  their  devo- 
tions without  let  or  hindrance  from  scrupulous  confessor  or 
preacher.  Madame  de  Sevigne,  who  records  this  fact,  and  who 
may  be  said  to  represent  the  moral  side  of  the  society  of  that 
period,  adds  :  "A?  vie  (De  Montespan's)  est  exempiaire ;  elle 
s'ocaipe  de  ses  onvriers  (at  Clagny) ;  elle  va  c  St.  Cloud  oil  elle 
joiie  a  Hoca  "  —  a  game  of  hazard  at  which  many  of  the  courtiers 
ruined  themselves  to  please  the  king.  At  St.  Cloud  presided 
Madame,  second  wife  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  and  daughter  of 
the  Prince  Palatine.  She  was  as  ugly  as  she  was  spiritiielle  et 
maligiie.  She  said,  when  she  had  to  abjure  Lutheranism  on 
her  marriage  with  Monsieur,  that  "  on  her  arrival  in  Paris  three 
bishops  were  appointed  to  confer  with  her  on  the  subject  of 
religion,  and  to  instruct  her  in  her  new  faith  ;  but  as  she  found 
that  they  differed  widely  from  each  other  in  points  of  belief,  she 
took  from  each  the  quintessence  of  his  creed,  and  formed  them 
into  a  religion  for  herself. 


294  OLD   PARIS 

more  of  a  bon  vivant  than  a  priest.  After  the 
penitential  period  of  Lent  —  when  the  king  made 
a  very  clean  breast  of  it  —  the  holy  father  was 
accustomed  to  feign  illness,  to  lie  in  bed  and 
undergo  a  slight  bleeding,  the  royal  penitent 
sending  many  times  daily  to  inquire  after  the 
state  of  his  health.  But  he  was  always  too  much 
weakened  by  the  severity  of  the  attack  to  attend 
him  when  this  alarmingly  heavy  burden  of  sins 
had  to  be  removed.  A  Jesuit  priest,  in  whom  he 
placed  great  confidence,  was  therefore  deputed  to 
perform  the  onerous  duty  for  him,  and  was  of 
course  only  too  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
absolving  the  Grand  Monarque.  The  Pere  La 
Chaise  has  been  aptly  described  as  " ;/;/  singidier 
melange  de  r'lise  ct  de  bonte,  de  circonspection  et 
dc  franchise.''  Of  his  office  of  confessor  to  the 
king  he  himself  said  :  "  Bon  Dien  !  quel  role  !  " 

Bossuet,  as  preceptor  to  the  dauphin,  had  his 
apartment  in  the  palace.  He  and  the  learned 
ecclesiastics  of  his  intimate  society  were  familiarly 
designated  by  the  court  " Les  p/it/oso/>hes."  For 
he  had  introduced  the  custom  of  selecting  some 
special  subject  for  conversation  and  discussion  in 
the  daily  walks  he  and  his  friends  were  accus- 
tomed to  take  in  a  retired  avenue  in  the  grounds 
of  Versailles.  Learned  abbes,  preachers,  and  bish- 
ops, as  their  several  inclinations  or  special  studies 
led  them,  named  a  theme  —  historical,  theological, 
metaphysical,   etc.  —  upon   which    each    expressed 


Xa  Bru^ere 


LA   BRUYiRE  295 

his  opinion  or  ideas.  These  philosophical  prome- 
nades continued  for  many  years  at  Versailles  and 
elsewhere,  and  formed  for  some  time  an  exclusive 
literary  society.  Afterwards,  men  of  letters  who 
who  were  not  ecclesiastics  were  permitted  to  join 
it ;  but  as  its  discussions  retained,  more  or  less,  a 
serious  tone,  and  were  often  of  a  purely  religious 
character,  when  the  king  became  devout  much 
eagerness  was  evinced  by  zealous  courtiers  to  be 
numbered  amongst  the  philosophers. 

Racine  was  a  member,  also  La  Bruy^re,  who,  at 
Bossuet's  suggestion,  had  been  selected  to  reside, 
in  quality  of  Jiomnie  de  lettres,  with  Monsieur  le 
Due  —  the  grandson  of  the  great  Conde  —  to  in- 
struct him  in  history.  La  Bruyere  was  a  philoso- 
pher of  a  very  genial  school ;  a  man  of  great 
suavity  of  temper,  fond  of  society,  of  which  he  was 
a  keen  observer,  and  distinguished  for  wit  and  pol- 
ished manners.  "  Les  Caracteres,"  one  of  the 
chefs-d'ceiivre  of  the  seventeenth  century,  obtained 
for  its  author  the  honour  of  an  academical y^z/z/tv///. 
It  has  been  said  that  it  would  have  obtained  for 
many  men  of  that  time  a  sojourn  in  the  Bastille, 
so  vivid  are  the  portraits,  so  keenly  incisive  is  the 
satire,  but  that,  like  Boileau,  La  Bruyere  did  not 
attack  the  king.  He  held  the  post  of  gcntilJioinme 
dc  la  chambre  du  roi,  and  the  king  had  a  great 
esteem  for  him.  "  Telemaque  "  and  "  Les  Carac- 
teres," the  two  most  original  works  of  that  period, 
have  been  those  the  most  frequently  imitated  and 
with  the  least  success. 


296  OLD   PARIS 

Pelisson  was  also  of  the  philosophers,  though 
little  esteemed  by  them.  His  talents  were  un- 
doubted, and  his  defence  of  Fouquet  had  secured 
him  general  admiration.  But  his  abjuration  of 
Protestantism,  like  that  of  Turenne,  was  by  both 
Catholics  and  Huguenots  regarded  as  insincere. 
"  Dieu  lui  avait  fait  la  grande  grace,''  as  Fenelon 
said,  "to  open  his  eyes  at  the  precise  moment 
when  it  was  most  to  his  worldly  interest  to  be 
converted."  No  more  active  agent  was  employed 
against  the  Protestants  than  the  Calvianist  Pelisson, 
and  none  reaped  more  solid  rewards  for  zealous 
persecution  of  them  than  he.  Gold  and  lucrative 
sinecures  were  showered  upon  him,  under  whose 
genial  influence  grew  brilliant  flowers  of  rhetoric, 
which  he  employed  for  the  ornamentation  of  peans 
in  honour  of  the  king.  Even  by  the  servile  herd 
of  courtiers,  Pelisson' s  flattery  was  regarded  as 
mean  and  base.  And,  in  a  discourse  delivered  at 
the  French  Academy,  Louis  himself  was  embar- 
rassed by  it.  One  may,  therefore,  safely  conclude 
that  the  force  of  adulatory  eloquence  could  no  fur- 
ther go.  The  only  voice  then  unfalteringly  raised 
in  praise  of  Pelisson  was  that  of  his  old  friend 
Madeleine  de  Scudery.  She,  like  a  true  woman, 
could  both  lament  the  downfall  of  poor  imprisoned 
Fouquet,  and  rejoice  at  the  elevation  of  his  rene- 
gade friend,  of  whose  sincerity  in  changing  his 
faith  nothing;  could  shake  her  conviction. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

Death  of  Turenne  and  Retirement  of  Conde.  —  Funeral  Orations 
—  La  Belle  Fontanges.  —  Marriage  of  the  Dauphin.  —  La 
Dame  d'Honneur. —  Poetry  and  Piety.  —  La  Fontaine. — 
The  Soldier-Prince.  —  Death  of  La  Belle  Duchesse. — The 
Tuileries  Forsaken.  —  Poisonings  and  Magic.  —  Marriage  of 
Mdme.  de  Maintenon. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  Marechal 
Turenne — who  was  sht)t  through  the 
heart  while  choosing,  with  General  Saint 
Hilaire,  the  position  for  a  battery  near  the  village 
of  Saltzbach,  the  same  ball  carrying  away  the  gen- 
eral's right  arm  —  the  great  Conde  retired  from 
active  service.  He  suffered  much  from  gout,  was 
also  a  little  jealous  of  younger  military  men,  and 
particularly  impatient  of  the  interference  of  Lou- 
vois  and  the  king  —  the  latter  nominal  commander- 
in-chief  of  the  armies.  The  balls,  masquerades, 
and  entertainments  of  the  Tuileries,  Fontainebleau, 
and  Versailles,  had  possessed  but  little  attraction 
for  him  even  in  the  days  of  his  impetuous  youth. 
Now,  he  very  rarely  visited  the  court,  preferring 
the  retirement  of  his  charming  Chateau  of  Chan- 
tilly,  and  the  society  and  conversation  of  men  of 

297 


298  OLD   PARIS 

genius  and  learning,  of  scientific  pursuits,  or 
celebrity  in  the  arts.  He  had  always  been  an 
encourager  and  patron  of  literature,  and  was  him- 
self an  intelligent  amateur  in  some  branches  of 
science. 

Turenne,  like  most  of  the  distinguished  men 
who  took  part  in  the  great  events  of  the  century, 
left  MS.  Memoirs,  which,  as  Voltaire  observes,  are 
not  in  the  style  of  those  of  Xenophon  and  Caesar ; 
but  the  great  soldier's  chequered  career,  his  con- 
version and  tragic  death,  supplied  a  fine  subject 
for  the  display  of  Bossuet's  great  oratorical  powers  ; 
and  his  treatment  of  it  was  grand  and  dramatic. 
Flechier's  oration  on  the  same  occasion  was  also 
considered  a  cJicf-d' ceiivre  of  its  kind.  France  had 
lost  her  two  greatest  generals  ;  still  the  war  went 
on.  Another  campaign,  however,  was  followed  by 
the  peace  of  Nimegue.  While  peace  was  being 
signed,  William  of  Orange,  Louis's  inveterate  foe, 
gained  a  victory  at  Mons  over  the  Marechal  Due 
de  Luxembourg,  and  Louvois  and  Louis  continued 
to  ravage  the  German  States.  Strasbourg  was  sur- 
prised and  taken  ;  the  consternation  and  despair  of 
the  inhabitants  at  falling  under  the  despotic  rule 
of  France  being  as  great  as  when,  two  hundred 
years  after,  torn  from  France,  they  fell  under  the 
despotism  of  Germany.  The  Hotel  de  Ville  of 
Paris  conferred  on  the  king  at  this  time  the  sur- 
name of  ^^  Le  Grand,''  and  struck  several  medals 
commemorative  of  the  event. 


LA    BELLE   FONTANGES  299 

But  while  his  generals  were  carrying  fire  and 
sword  through  the  small  German  towns  and 
inflicting  cruelties  on  their  helpless  inhabitants, 
Louis  was  gradually  becoming  pious.  The  star 
of  De  Montespan  was  rapidly  declining,  that  of 
De  Maintenon  steadily  rising.  The  children  and 
their  gouvernantc  now  lived  in  the  palace,  and  De 
Montespan  soon  began  to  detect  a  rival  in  her 
perfidious  protegee  and  friend.  Quarrels  ensued 
between  them  ;  the  king  interfered,  and  endeav- 
oured to  appease  the  jealousy  of  one,  and  to  soothe 
the  wounded  feelings  of  the  other.  Notwithstand- 
ing, '^ on  parlait  dc  cliangcmcnt  d' amour,''  "La 
he  lie  Fojitanges,'"  had  begun  her  short  reign,  and 
was  already  Madame  la  Duchesse,  with  a  pension 
of  twenty  thousand  e'ais.  She  had  received  in 
bed,  as  was  the  custom,  the  congratulations  of  the 
court.  The  king  himself  had  publicly  compli- 
mented her  on  the  further  honour  conferred  on 
her  sister,  whom  he  had  made  Abbess  of  Chelles. 
De  Montespan,  though  greatly  enraged  at  the 
"prospe'rite,''  as  Sevigne  calls  it,  of  la  belle  Fon- 
tanges,  was  cut  to  the  heart  at  the  far  more 
dangerous  ascendency  which  the  cleverer  and 
more  wily,  though  less  young  and  beautiful,  rival 
was  acquiring  over  the  mind  of  the  king. 

Madame  de  Maintenon  was  soon  after  named 
dame  d'Jionneiir  to  the  Princess  of  Bavaria,  an 
alarmingly  ugly  but  spirit ue lie  young  lady,  just 
married    (1680)    to    the    dauphin,   who    was    then 


300  OLD   PARIS 

nineteen.  M.  do  Sanguin,  one  of  the  gentlemen 
of  the  court  appointed  to  escort  the  princess  to 
France,  wrote  to  the  king,  by  way  of  warning  of 
the  shock  he  might  otherwise  receive,  "  Sire, 
sauvez  le  premier  coup  d'oeiiy  The  dauphine, 
conscious  of  her  extreme  plainness,  and  of  the 
want  of  those  airs  and  graces  which  alone  found 
favour  in  the  profligate  court  of  Louis  XIV.,  led  a 
life  of  great  retirement.  The  dauphin,  however, 
was  much  attached  to  her.  She  was  so  good  and 
so  clever,  and  had  so  much  pleasing  expression 
that,  after  the  first  shock,  her  want  of  beauty  was 
forgotten.  The  king,  too,  took  some  pleasure  in 
her  society,  and  spent  in  her  apartments  the  hours 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  pass  with  the  haughty 
marquise.  As  la  dame  d' honnciir  was  also  there, 
it  led  to  ^^  7ine  infinite  de  conversations  agreables,'' 
in  which  he  daily  discovered  a  greater  charm,  as 
well  as  new  attractions,  in  the  lady  he  had  once 
thought  but  slightingly  of.  Maria  Theresa,  who 
also  had  a  liking  for  her  daughter-in-law,  com- 
plained that  Madame  de  Maintenon  kept  them 
apart.  This  was  a  new  cause  of  grief,  but  she 
yielded  to  the  queen,  and  she  had  her  reward : 
'^  V Jwmme  le  pins  aimable  de  son  royanme'' 
chatted  with  her  in  her  own  apartment.  He  cared 
not  to  put  any  constraint  on  the  gossip  of  the  poor 
little  queen,  who  never  appeared  before  him  with- 
out involuntarily  trembling.  In  the  course  of  these 
interesting    tete-a-tete    conferences    the    kine:  was 


POETRY  AXD   PIETY  3OI 

first  made  to  doubt  of  the  safety  of  his  soul ;  and 
for  hours  together  he  listened  attentively  to  his  fair 
preacher. 

Roederer  considers  that  the  death  of  Moliere, 
in  1673,  contributed  to  bring  about  the  change 
in  the  mind  and  character  of  the  king  in  the 
period  betv/een  1675  and  1680,  and  to  confirm 
the  ascendency  which  the  example  of  those  per- 
sons who  preserved  the  moral  traditions  of  the 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet  had  begun  to  acquire. 
"During  Moliere's  career,"  he  says,  '' Ics  Icttrcs 
had  sanctioned  and  protected  the  licentiousness 
of  the  court  against  the  societe  if  elite ;  but  as  the 
manners  of  the  court  underwent  a  change,  the 
poets  perceived  that  the  time  had  arrived  to  adopt 
another  tone.  The  gross  expressions  so  favoured, 
so  cherished,  by  Moliere  are  not  to  be  found  in 
the  works  of  his  successors  of  the  TJiedtre  fran- 
qais.  Neither  in  Regnard,  nor  even  in  the  plays 
of  Dancourt.  Not  a  trace  of  them  in  La  Bruyere, 
who,  more  diversified  than  Moliere,  wrote  in  every 
tone,  and  depicted  a  greater  variety  of  characters." 
The  muse  of  Racine,  so  tender,  so  passionately 
loving,  became  pious.  He  and  Duche  began  to 
vie  with  each  other  in  composing  plays  on  Biblical 
subjects.  Corneille,  whose  last  tragedy,  "  Su- 
rena,"  was  produced  in  1680,  translated,  the  next 
year,  "  LTmitation  de  Jesus  Christ."  Benserade 
translated  hymns  for  the  '' livrc  d'heures"  of  the 
king.      Ouinault  wrote : 


302  OLD   PARTS 

"  Je  n'ai  que  trop  chanter  les  jeux  et  les  amours, 
Sur  un  ton  plus  sublime  il  faut  me  faire  entendre; 
Je  vous  dis  adieu,  Muse  tendre, 
Et  vous  dis  adieu  pour  toujours." 

After  this  we  have  no  more  flowing  lyrics  from 
the  pen  of  Quinault.  Instead  of  from  love,  with 
its  pains  and  its  pleasures,  he  sought  inspiration 
from  the  vile  deeds  of  Les  Dragons,  and  chanted 
^' les  dragonnadcs''  under  the  title  of  "L'Heresie 
detruite."  Only  La  Fontaine  continued  to  address 
his  licentious  verses  to  certain  grandes  dames  and 
grands  seigneurs  of  the  "  Societe  italiennc^  But 
the  time  was  approaching  when  he,  also,  had  to 
impose  some  restraint  on  the  freedom  of  his  muse, 
though  La  Fontaine  sought  for  no  favours  from 
the  court,  and  was  content  to  linger  on  in  poverty 
after  his  patroness,  Madame  de  la  Sabliere, —  in 
whose  house  he  had  lived  twenty  years,  — tired  of 
the  world,  or  the  world  tired  of  her,  went  into  a 
convent  to  make  an  edifying  end  to  a  life  of  "  belle 
galanterie,"'  as  it  was  termed.  "  All's  well  that 
ends  well,"  was  the  general  motto  of  those  ''belles 
dames  galantes^  It  was  Madame  de  la  Sabliere 
who  said  to  her  protege,  "  Mon  bon  ami  La  Fon- 
taine, que  vous  seriez  bete  si  vous  71  aviez  pas  tant 
d' esprit!'  For  though  so  full  of  gaiety  and  spright- 
liness  in  his  writings,  he  was  dreary  beyond  endur- 
ance in  conversation,  and  inclined  to  be  moody  and 
melancholy. 

Having  married  the  dauphin,  the  king  began  to 


THE   SOLDIER-PRINCE  3O3 

establish  the  rest  of  his  family,  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Blois,  La  Valliere's  daughter,  at  the  age  of  four- 
teen, became,  by  royal  command  —  for  the  bride- 
groom was  an  unwilling  one,  and  the  Grand  Conde 
exceedingly  mortified  —  the  wife  of  the  Prince  de 
Conti.  The  soldier-prince,  compelled  to  appear  at 
the  marriage  of  his  nephew,  being  appealed  to  a 
Vimprovistc,  was  induced  to  have  his  venerable  beard 
shaven  off.  Beards  were  not  then  fashionable  at 
court ;  but  the  habits  of  Conde,  as  regarded  toilette 
and  fashion,  were  not  unlike  those  of  Henry  IV.  ; 
when  he  put  off  his  sword  he  made  himself  com- 
fortable in  a  plain  and  easy-fitting  suit ;  and  he 
cherished  his  beard,  but  would  not  condescend  to 
a  wig.  His  valet,  taking  advantage  of  his  having 
undergone,  in  honour  of  the  marriage,  the  opera- 
tion of  shaving,  proceeded  to  dress,  to  pomade, 
and  to  powder  his  hair,  of  which  he  seems  to  have 
had  an  abundant  crop.  The  womankind  of  his 
establishment  prepared  for  him  a  new  close  coat 
of  rich  brown  satin,  with  large  diamond  buttons, 
which,  with  a  diamond-hilted  sword,  completed  his 
wedding  suit.  His  coiffure  an  nature  I  e.xcited  the 
envy  of  the  court.  The  long  wigs,  reaching  half- 
way to  the  knees,  looked  ridiculous,  we  learn,  by 
the  side  of  Conde's  ^^  belle  tete." 

But  the  Grand  Conde  was  then  but  a  wreck  of 
his  former  self  ;  the  fiery  spirit  of  his  youth  had 
burnt  out,  and  at  fifty-nine  he  was  already  an  aged 
man.     His  only  sister,  the  celebrated  Duchess  de 


304  OLD    PARIS 

Longueville,  died  in  the  preceding  year.  Her 
beauty,  and  her  extreme  piety  —  for  she,  too,  had 
injured  her  health  and  hastened  her  death  by  those 
wretched  practices  supposed  to  be  gratifying  to  the 
Deity  and  to  atone  for  sin — being  made  the  sub- 
ject of  great  laudation  in  the  funeral  panegyric. 
The  prince  had  been  greatly  affected  at  her  death. 
How  many  painful  remembrances  it  awakened,  as 
well  of  his  own  brilliant  youth  as  of  hers!  La 
Rochefoucauld  also  was  dead,  a  very  short  interval 
occurring  between  his  death  and  that  of  the  duchess. 
Madame  de  La  Fayette  was  inconsolable,  and  se- 
cluded herself  from  society.  Between  her  and  La 
Rochefoucauld  had  long  subsisted  one  of  those 
sentimental  attachments,  or  friendships,  which  not 
unfrequently  occur  in  France,  in  the  latter  part  of 
life,  between  persons  of  opposite  sexes,  but  an  in- 
stance of  which  is  of  rare  occurrence  in  England. 
There  is  something  of  the  romanesquc  in  the  idea, 
which  to  most  English  minds  would,  in  middle  age, 
be  the  equivalent  of  ridiculous.  "  Old  friends  and 
old  wine,"  says  an  illustrious  English  sage:  "as 
many  of  the  first  and  as  much  of  the  latter  as  you 
please,  but  no  old  women."  It  follows,  then,  that 
old  friendships  in  England  can  exist  only  amongst 
old  men.  Poor  old  women !  why  not  all  emigrate 
to  France  for  the  chance  of  the  solace  of  an  old 
friend  of  the  sterner  sex  .'' 

When  death  sundered  the  bonds  of  friendship 
between  La  Rochefoucauld  and   Madame  de   La 


THE    TUILERIES  EOKSAKEN  305 

Fayette,  two  literary  salons  were  closed  ;  and  when 
the  same  ruthless  destroyer,  in  1683,  made  Louis 
XIV.  a  disconsolate  widower,  he  put  an  end  also 
to  the  court  of  the  Tuileries.  From  that  time,  the 
king  held  his  court  permanently  at  Versailles,  with 
occasional  excursions  to  Fontainebleau  and  Marly. 
The  Hotels  de  Nevers,  de  Bouillon,  de  Soissons, 
and  one  or  two  others  of  the  dissolute  Italian  school 
of  morals  still  flourished.  But  Bourdaloue  having 
denounced  ^^Ics  vKritrs  italicnncs'''  in  a  Christmas- 
day  sermon  preached  before  the  king,  several  young 
courtiers  who  frequented  those  salons  were  ban- 
ished to  their  estates  for  a  time.  This,  together 
with  the  absurd  charges  made  against  Mesdames 
de  Soissons,  de  Bouillon,  and  de  Tingry,  and  even 
against  the  Marechal  Due  de  Luxembourg,  of  being 
implicated  with  the  infamous  Voisin  and  her  com- 
panions, who  were  burnt  on  the  Place  de  la  Greve, 
in  dealings  with  the  devil  by  means  of  incanta- 
tions, enchantments,  poisonings,  and  the  arts  of 
magic  generally  —  showing  how  much  of  ignorance 
and  barbarism  yet  lurked  under  the  social  varnish 
of  politeness  and  refinement  of  speech  —  brought 
discredit  on  the  Italian  reunions,  and  closed  more 
than  one  of  those  salons. 

Madame  de  Fontanges  and  the  queen  being 
dead,  de  Montespan  banished  from  the  court, 
and  the  dauphine  in  ill  health,  passing  all  her  time 
in  her  apartment,  the  ofifice  of  comforter  to  the 
king  in  his  affliction  devolved  solely  on   Madame 


306  OLD   PARIS 

de  Maintenon.  Her  anxiety  to  save  his  soul 
increased  as  her  opportunities  increased  to  bring 
about  that  good  work.  ^'  Peut-etrc,"  she  wrote, 
"  il  71  est  pas  si  eloign^  de  penser  a  son  saint  que 
sa  coiir  le  croit.  II  a  des  retours  firqiients  vers 
Dieii.  II  serait  bien  triste  que  Dieu  7i  eclairdt 
pas  une  dvie  fait e  pour  lui." 

And  Heaven  did  kindly  enlighten  this  erring 
soul ;  made  him  zealous,  also,  to  save  the  souls  of 
others,  and,  as  a  first  step  in  the  thorny  path 
of  piety,  some  time  between  1685  and  1686  he 
married  Madame  de  Maintenon,  in  the  dead  of 
the  night,  in  the  chapel  of  Versailles.  Though 
the  date  is  variously  given,  yet  that  the  marriage 
(in  proof  of  which  no  state  document  or  writing  of 
any  kind  is  known  to  exist)  took  place,  has  never 
been  doubted. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Revocation    of    the    Edict    of    Nantes. — Petitot,   the    Enamel 

Painter.  —  His    Escape    to  Geneva.  —  Bordier.  —  Vandyke. 

—  Petitot  and  Bordier  in  Paris.  —  Portrait  of  Jean  Sobieski. 

■  — Destruction  of  Works  of  Art.  —  Petitot's  Chef-d'oeuvre. 

I^HORTLY  before,  or  after,  that  most 
inauspicious  event,  the  marriage  of 
Louis  XIV.  with  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  took  place,  the  king  determined  on  the 
revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  It  proved  a 
national  calamity — many  of  the  misfortunes  that 
weighed  so  heavily  on  France  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  king's  reign  having  resulted  from  that  highly 
impolitic  step. 

At  that  time  the  celebrated  enamel  painter,  the 
Chevalier  Jean  Petitot,  lived  in  the  Rue  de  I'Uni- 
versite,  in  a  handsome  residence  facing  the  Hotel 
Tambonneau.  There,  for  many  years,  he  had 
received  the  visits  of  the  court,  and  of  the  most 
distinguished  people  in  Europe,  all  eager  to  pos- 
sess one  of  his  precious  gems  of  art.  He  was 
then  seventy-eight  years  of  age,  but  still  worked 
unremittingly,  and  without  any  diminution  of 
skill  or  of  finish  in  his  productions.  In  all  of 
them    he    took    the    highest    interest,    executing 

307 


308  OLD   PARIS 

them  con  amove.  Doubtless,  to  this  intense  love 
of  his  art  the  general  excellence  of  his  work  is  to 
be  attributed,  and  that  none  that  with  certainty 
could  be  assigned  to  him  has  ever  been  found 
unworthy  of  his  great  reputation. 

But  Petitot  was  no  less  zealous  as  a  Huguenot 
than  as  an  artist ;  and  on  the  revocation  of  the 
Edict  being  announced,  he  requested  permission 
from  the  king,  with  whom  he  stood  very  high  in 
favour,  to  retire  to  Geneva,  his  native  place.  The 
old  man's  request  was  refused,  and  that  he  might 
not  secretly  leave  the  country,  a  letti'c  de  cachet 
consigned  him  and  his  wife  to  Fort  I'Eveque.  As 
soon  as  the  Swiss  Government  heard  of  this 
arbitrary  act,  every  effort  was  made  to  obtain 
Petitot's  release ;  but  in  vain.  Confinement  and 
anxiety  soon  told  upon  his  health,  and  the  result 
was  fever.  Louis,  who  had  frequent  occasion  for 
Petitot's  services,  fearing  the  old  painter  might 
die,  ordered  his  removal  to  a  house.  This  was, 
in  fact,  but  exchanging  one  prison  for  another 
—  the  house  being  inclosed  within  walls,  beyond 
which  he  was  not  permitted  to  pass.  It  has 
been  asserted  that  Bossuet  was  charged  to  visit 
the  old  man  and  his  wife,  in  order  to  reason 
with  them,  to  point  out  the  errors  of  their  faith, 
and  to  bring  them  into  the  fold  of  the  faithful, 
but  that  his  success  was  by  no  means  satisfactory. 

Like  many  others,  however,  Petitot  was  in- 
duced, for  the  purpose  of   obtaining  his   release. 


PETITOTS   ESCAPE    TO    GENEVA  3O9 

to  sign  a  confession  of  faith.  As  soon  as  he  was 
set  at  Hberty,  he  and  his  wife  escaped  to  Geneva, 
where,  before  the  Conseil  de  Geneve,  they  made 
a  declaration  that  they  had  but  yielded  to  the 
force  of  circumstances,  and  that  Petitot  had  re- 
turned to  his  country  to  seek  consolation  there, 
and  to  obtain  pardon  from  Heaven.  These  de- 
clarations, or  letters,  to  the  Conseil  are  still 
extant.  They  are  said  to  be  expressive  of  great 
anguish  of  mind,  and  to  convey  some  idea  of  the 
misery  then  generally  experienced  by  the  Prot- 
estants of  Paris. 

Petitot's  father  was  a  skilful  sculptor  in  wood. 
He  apprenticed  his  son  to  a  jeweller  of  Geneva, 
and  Jean  soon  displayed  so  much  ability  in  orna- 
mental enamelling  that  he  was  advised  to  keep 
solely  to  that  branch  of  his  business.  After  some 
years  of  patient  study,  he  and  his  friend  Bordier 
—  a  fellow-workman  of  similar  tastes  and  much 
skill  —  went  to  England,  where  some  enamelled 
jewellery  they  had  been  commissioned  to  execute 
for  the  court  so  pleased  the  king  that  he  men- 
tioned it  to  Vandyke.  The  great  painter  desired 
to  see  it,  and  was  much  struck  by  its  beauty 
and  excellence.  Several  miniatures  of  the  royal 
family,  after  portraits  by  Vandyke,  were  then 
executed  by  Petitot  —  the  heads  and  hands  being 
his  work,  the  draperies  and  background,  Bordier' s. 
Theodore  de  Mayerne,  a  Swiss  Protestant,  was 
at   that    time   the   king's   physician.      He  was   an 


310  OLb   PARIS 

able  experimental  chemist,  and  had  discovered 
some  opaque  colours  for  enamels  which  Petitot 
had  long  been  anxious  to  obtain.  By  the  aid  of 
them  he  was  enabled  to  bring  his  art  to  much 
greater  perfection  by  improving  the  flesh  tints 
and  graduating  the  shadows  of  his  paintings. 
After  a  time  Charles  I.  knighted  him,  and  gave 
him  and  Bordier  an  apartment  at  Whitehall. 
When  the  royal  family  fled  to  France,  Petitot 
accompanied  them.  His  fame  had  preceded  him, 
and  numerous  were  the  commissions  he  received 
for  portraits  of  Louis  XIV.,  as  well  as  for  private 
persons  and  for  the  court.  The  charge  for  these 
exquisite  miniatures  was  at  first  twenty  louis ;  but 
so  great  was  the  demand  for  them  that  it  was 
increased  very  soon  to  forty.  However,  the  louis 
d'or  was  then  not  worth  more  than  ten  francs. 

There  was  no  rivalry  whatever  between  Petitot 
and  Bordier.  They  worked  together  for  fifty 
years  without  ever  having  had  a  disagreement. 
Their  partnership  was  founded  on  mutual  attach- 
ment and  the  love  they  both  had  for  their  art, 
though  to  Petitot  was  assigned  the  pre-eminence 
in  it.  In  1 651,  three  years  after  their  arrival  in 
Paris,  they  divided  equally  the  profits  of  their 
joint  labour,  which  amounted  to  a  million  francs. 
Each  then  thought  he  was  rich  enough  to  take 
to  himself  a  wife.  Petitot  married  Marguerite 
Cuper ;  Bordier,  her  sister  Madeleine.  On  the 
restoration  of  Charles    II.   he   would   have  taken 


PORTRAIT  OF  JEAN  SOB  IE  SKI  3II 

the  painter  with  him  to  England,  and  promoted 
him  to  great  honour  —  for  Charles,  in  the  straits 
he  was  often  reduced  to  when  in  exile,  had  on 
several  occasions  been  glad  to  avail  himself  of 
Petitot's  hospitality.  But  being  established  in 
Paris  he  preferred  to  remain  there,  and  Louis 
then  conferred  a  pension  upon  him,  and  gave  him 
and  his  partner  an  atelier  in  the  galleries  of  the 
Louvre.  There  he  continued  to  work  for  some 
years ;  but,  on  the  death  of  Bordier,  advancing 
age  and  increasing  wealth  made  it  more  conven- 
ient to  him  to  establish  an  atelier  in  his  own 
mansion. 

Petitot  had  resided  thirty-six  years  in  Paris 
when  the  oppression  and  cruelty  that  resulted 
from  the  bigotry  of  Louis  XIV.  in  revoking  the 
Edict  of  Nantes,  drove  him,  and  so  many  thou- 
sands of  its  best  citizens,  from  France.  Petitot 
retired  to  Vevay,  but  continued  to  work.  One  of 
his  most  admired  productions  was  executed  there, 
after  he  had  passed  his  eighty-second  year — the 
portraits  of  the  famous  Jean  Sobieski,  King  of 
Poland,  and  his  queen.  She  is  seated  on  a 
trophy,  holding  in  her  hand  the  portrait  of  her 
husband.  The  oil-paintings  from  which  the  faces 
were  copied  were  sent  to  Switzerland  to  him,  and 
the  price  paid  for  this  double  work  was  a  hundred 
louis  d'or.  The  old  painter  was  engaged  on  a 
portrait  of  his  wife  when,  in  1691,  he  was  sud- 
denly taken  ill.     He  died  the  same   day,  in   the 


312  ()/,/;    PARJS 

eighty-fourth  year  of  his  age.  He  had  had  a 
family  of  seventeen  sons  and  daughters.  One 
only  of  the  former  became  a  painter.  He  estab- 
lished himself  in  London,  and  afterwards  in  Dub- 
lin. At  the  time  of  the  revocation,  the  survivors 
of  Petitot's  large  family  who  were  settled  in 
France  signed  the  confession  of  faith  and  re- 
mained there.  When  their  father  fled  to  Geneva 
they  presented  a  petition  to  the  king,  praying  that 
he  would  pardon  him ;  to  which  Louis  replied 
that  "he  could  forgive  an  old  man's  wish  to  be 
buried  with  his  fathers."  He  was,  however,  aware 
that  Petitot  would  have  been  well  content  to  live 
on  in  peace  with  his  family  in  France,  and  also  to 
have  been  buried  there. 

Many  of  the  great  artist's  priceless  productions 
are  said  to  have  been  destroyed  for  the  sake  of 
the  comparatively  valueless  gold  plaques  upon 
which  the  greater  part  of  them  were  painted. 
This,  in  some  instances,  was  owing  to  the  igno- 
rance and  cupidity  of  the  persons  into  whose  hands 
they  sometimes  fell ;  in  others,  to  the  times  of 
dire  distress  in  France,  when  every  piece  of  the 
precious  metals,  however  small,  was  collected  and 
carried  to  the  mint ;  and  objects  of  art  of  inesti- 
mable value  were  sacrificed  to  the  needs  of  the 
state. 

Amongst  so  many  exquisitely  beautiful  speci- 
mens of  Petitot's  skill,  it  would  be  difficult  per- 
haps to  select  one  to  which  could  be  assigned  the 


PET/ TOT'S   CHEF-D'CEUVRE  313 

honoxiY,  par  excellence,  of  being  his  cJief-d' oeuvre . 
Yet  it  has  been  considered  that  no  known  work 
of  Petitot  has  surpassed  in  beauty  and  finish  his 
portrait,  after  Vandyke,  of  the  Countess  of  South- 
ampton. It  belongs  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire ; 
its  date  is  1642. 

Petitot  was  for  many  years  a  member  of  the 
French  Academy  of  Painting,  to  which  he  pre- 
sented, on  his  election,  a  fine  enamel  portrait  of 
Louis  XIV.,  after  that,  in  oil,  by  Le  Brun.  But 
on  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  —  as 
soon  as  it  was  known  that  Petitot  was  unwill- 
ing to  abjure  the  Protestant  faith  —  his  name 
was  erased,  by  royal  command,  from  the  list  of 
Academicians. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

Marriage  of  Mdlle.  de  Nantes.  —  Death  of  the  Grand  Conde. 
—  Bossuet's  Last  Oration.  —  Madame  de  Caylus.  —  Lines 
Addressed  to  Her.  —  The   Marquis  de  la  Fare. 

It  was  also  in  1685  that  the  king  con- 
ferred on  the  Conde  family  the  further 
mortifying  honour  of  marrying  his  sec- 
ond illegitimate  daughter,  Mademoiselle  de  Nantes, 
a  girl  of  twelve  years,  to  Monsieur  le  Due,  grand- 
son of  the  great  Conde.  Louis  never  really  forgave 
the  prince  his  conduct  at  the  time  of  the  Fronde, 
but  delighted  to  find  opportunities  of  vexing  and 
humiliating  him.  This  marriage,  so  repugnant  to 
the  family,  was  celebrated  with  extraordinary  splen- 
dour—  carrousel  2iX.  Versailles,  i?incy  fete  at  Marly, 
the  ladies  drawing  lots  for  a  variety  of  magnificent 
jewels,  until  all  were  provided  with  a  valuable  pres- 
ent from  the  king.  A  hrWliaxiX.  fete  was  given  in 
the  fine  gardens  of  the  Chateau  de  Sceaux,  and 
Madame  de  Montespan  was  permitted  to  share  in 
the  festivities  in  honour  of  her  daughter's  marriage. 
It  was  a  sort  of  triumphal  closing  of  her  career  in 
the  presence  of  her  successful  rival  —  for  it  was 
her  last  appearance  at  court.  She  retired  with  an 
immense  income,  increased  by  a  pension  of  a  thou- 

314 


DEATH  OF   THE    GRAND    CONDE  315 

sand  louis  d'or  per  month  —  for  her  services,  prob- 
ably, to  the  state.  She,  however,  did  not  seclude 
herself  in  a  convent,  but  was  content  to  wear  se- 
cretly a  sackcloth  chemise,  with  necklace,  brace- 
lets, and  garters,  en  suite,  of  rough  horsehair, 
garnished  with  little  sharp  points  of  steel. 

In  the  following  year  the  Grand  Conde  died,  at 
Fontainebleau,  whither  he  had  hastened,  alarmed 
for  the  safety  of  his  grandson  and  heir,  on  hearing 
that  the  young  duchess  had  taken  the  small-pox  — 
the  Prince  de  Conti,  a  few  months  before,  having 
died  of  the  same  disease.  The  youthful  bride  and 
bridegroom  recovered  ;  but  Conde's  strength  was 
unequal  to  sustaining  the  shock  he  had  received, 
and  the  fatigue  of  a  hasty  journey,  which  was 
great  in  those  days ;  and  in  a  very  short  time  after 
his  arrival,  this  great  prince  and  hero  ended  his 
chequered  career.*  Both  Bossuet  and  Bourdaloue 
delivered  funeral  orations.  That  of  Bossuet  was 
his  last.  He  was  sixty  years  of  age,  and  to  give 
full  effect  to  this  kind  of  eloquence,  physical  power 
was  needed,  with  appropriate  action,  and  the  voice 
thoroughly  under  command.  Perhaps  he  felt  some 
slight  falling  off  in  them  ;  his  admirers  saw  none. 

*  It  was  pretended  that  a  man  in  full  armour,  resembling  him, 
had  been  seen  by  a  gentleman  of  the  household  but  a  few  days 
before,  standing  at  a  window  of  the  armoury.  This  place,  always 
kept  locked,  was  searched ;  no  one  was  found.  A  servant  con- 
firmed his  master's  story,  and  it  was  told  to  the  prince,  who 
smiled  incredulously,  yet  was  really  affected  by  it.  Belief  in  such 
tales  was  in  accordance  with  the  superstitious  spirit  of  the  age. 


3l6  OLD   PARIS 

He,  however,  chose  to  retire  from  the  pulpit,  with 
his  reputation  as  one  of  its  greatest  orators  un- 
dimmed  ;  and  he  is  said,  on  this  occasion,  to  have 
surpassed  himself. 

The  king  had  an  illness  in  1686  which  partly 
obliged  him  to  renounce  balls,  plays,  ?ixv^  fetes,  and 
thus  gave  him  a  greater  inclination  for  the  prac- 
tices of  piety.  The  court  being  less  brilliant,  its 
disorderly  pleasures  were  to  come  to  an  end  and 
give  place  to  hypocritical  devotion.  "  La  mode 
passe,  et  Ic  court isan  est  devot,''  says  La  Bruyere. 
*'  It  is  but  a  change  of  vice.  If  the  king  were  an 
atheist,  the  courtier,  too,  would  be  an  atheist." 
If  the  Huguenots  had  been  but  as  supple  as  the 
courtiers,  how  they  would  have  gladdened  the  heart 
of  their  saintly  king. 

Madame  de  Maintenon  was  already  beginning 
to  feel  the  weight  of  those  chains  she  had  forged 
for  herself,  and  to  seek  some  relief  from  the  mo- 
notony of  her  life.  "  Consideration,"  when  attained, 
pressed  heavily  upon  her.  Imitating  the  king,  she, 
too,  would  build,  and  St.  Cyr  was  the  result  of 
ennui.  Anxious,  also,  to  save  the  souls  of  poor 
little  heretics,  she  began  with  that  of  her  niece. 
Mademoiselle  de  Murray,  who  was  converted  by  a 
promise  of  being  taken  every  day  to  see  the  grand 
show  of  high  mass  in  the  king's  chapel.  At  the 
age  of  fifteen  she  married  her  to  the  dissipated  old 
Marquis  de  Caylus.  It  was  while  walking  with  his 
niece  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles,  some  years  after 


MADAME  DE  CAYLUS  S^7 

she  became  the  wife  of  Louis  XIV.,  that  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  replying  to  Madame  de  Caylus's  re- 
mark that  the  carp  brought  to  the  ponds  of  Ver- 
sailles soon  languished  and  died,  said,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  "  E//i's  sont  covinic  vioi  ;  dies  rcgrettcnt  leiir 
bonrbc  /" — and  well,  indeed,  she  might  regret  it ; 
for  the  last  thirty  years  of  her  life  were  but  as  one 
long  penance. 

Madame  de  Caylus  was  a  very  lively  and  rather 
wild  young  matron  —  her  frequent  escapades 
greatly  ruffling  the  serenity  of  the  staid  Madame 
de  Maintenon.  She  was  exceedingly  pretty  —  one 
of  the  few  belles  whose  portraits  seem  to  justify 
their  reputation  for  beauty,  piquancy,  and  esprit. 
The  old  Marquis  de  la  Fare  —  the  same  who  was 
the  lover  of  Madame  de  la  Sabliere,  and  whose 
devotion  to  bassette  she  regarded  as  so  unpardon- 
able an  infidelity  that  chiefly  on  account  of  it  she 
gave  up  the  world  in  disgust  —  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing lines  to  Madame  de  Caylus  : 

"  M'abandonnant  un  jour  a  la  tristesse, 
Sans  espdrance,  et  meme  sans  desirs, 
Je  regrettais  les  sensibles  plaisirs 
Dont  la  douceur  enchanta  ma  jeunesse. 
Sont-ils  perdus,  disais-je,  sans  retour? 

Et  n'est-il  pas  cruel,  Amour ! 

Toi  que  j'ai  fait,  des  mon  enfance, 

Le  maitre  de  mes  plus  beaux  jours, 

D'en  laisser  terminer  le  cours 

A  I'ennuyeuse  indifference  ? 

Alors  j'aper^us  dans  les  airs 


3l8  OLD    PARIS 

L'enfant  maitre  de  Tunivers, 

Qui,  plein  d'une  joie  inhumaine, 
Me  dit,  en  souriant:  Tircis,  ne  te  plains  plus, 

Je  vais  mettre  fin  k  ta  peine; 
Je  te  promets  un  regard  de  Caylus." 

La  Fare  was  distinguished  above  the  crowd  of 
minor  poets  of  his  day,  and  these  verses  have  been 
ranked  amongst  the  prettiest  of  his  productions. 
They  were  written  after  Madame  de  la  SabHere 
had  renounced  her  faithless  swain. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

Reappearance  of  Lauzun.  —  James  II.  —  Melancholy  Mirth. — 
Distress  in  France.  —  Decline  of  Les  Belles  -  Lettres. — 
Madame  de  Lambert.  —  Death  of  Mdlle.  de  Scudery. —  Ninon 
de  Lenclos.  —  Voltaire.  —  Death  of  Ninon.  —  1715- 

[N  1689  Lauzun  reappeared  in  France, 
accompanying  Maria  Modena,  James 
II.'s  queen,  in  her  flight  with  the  infant 
prince,  from  England.  James  himself  soon  fol- 
lowed. Louis  XIV.  was  royally  munificent  in  his 
hospitality  to  his  cousin  James  and  his  queen.  It 
added  another  to  the  already  heavy  burdens  of 
France.  But  what  of  that,  if  it  added,  or  was  sup- 
posed to  add,  to  the  glory  of  the  king.  Except 
with  the  king,  James  found  little  favour  at  the 
French  court.  And  bigot  though  he  was,  pope, 
cardinals,  bishops,  and  even  the  Jesuit  priests 
whom  he  so  courted,  alike  ridiculed  and  contemned 
him.  "The  courtiers,"  says  Madame  de  La  Fa- 
yette, "  the  more  they  saw  of  King  James,  the  less 
they  pitied  him  for  the  loss  of  his  kingdom." 
Their  unfavourable  opinion  had,  however,  no  bet- 
ter foundation  than  his  inability  to  give  in  pure 
French  a  flowing  narration  of  his  troubles,  and 
the  want  of  distinction  in  his  manners,  the  undue 

319 


320  OLD    PARIS 

length  of  his  sword,  which  he  carried  ungracefully, 
trailing  it  after  him,  and  the  size  of  his  hat,  that 
covered  not  only  his  head  but  his  eyes.  They  for- 
got that  the  poor  man,  in  his  haste  to  get  safe 
away  with  his  head,  might  have  left  his  own  hat 
behind  him  and  snatched  up  any  other  that  fell 
in  his  way.  He  had  a  large  appetite,  too,  and 
"ate  as  heartily,  it  appears,  as  if  no  William  of 
Orange  existed."  On  the  whole,  it  may  be  sur- 
mised that  James  made  but  a  poor  figure  in  com- 
parison with  the  courtly  and  magnificent  Louis. 

A  little  more  gaiety  was  introduced  into  the 
then  severely  limited  routine  of  court  pleasures. 
The  only  plays  tolerated  being  the  ''petites  pieces 
pieiises''  of  Duche  and  Racine,  performed  by 
the  demoiselles  de  St.  Cyr,  "  Esther,"  otherwise, 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  was  played  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  James  and  Maria.  There  was  the  chase 
in  the  morning,  billiards  in  the  evening  ;  also,  iin 
petit  opera  at  Trianon,  performed  by  the  court  ; 
and  at  Marly  a  little  gambling,  at  the  new  game  of 
^'portiqucs.''  It  was  carnival-time,  but  the  masked 
balls  were  spiritless,  and  for  other  reasons  than 
court  piety.  They  began  only  at  midnight,  and 
before  two  the  melancholy  maskers  had  dispersed. 
Led  on  by  Louvois,  who  died  suddenly  in  1691, 
the  king  had  brought  the  nation  to  the  brink  of 
ruin,  and  murmuring  and  misery  were  general. 

Louis  was  particularly  anxious  that  James  should 
see  and  admire  his  fine  gardens  and  waterworks  of 


DISTA'ESS   IN  FRANCE  32  I 

Marly  and  Versailles,  whieh  had  cost  thirty  thou- 
sand men  their  lives,  and  still  were  unfinished. 
The  numerous  gardeners  employed  in  keeping  up 
the  grounds  had  famine  visible  in  their  hollow 
eyes  and  wasted  features.  There  was  not  a  son  in 
the  state's  coffers  to  pay  them,  and  provisions 
were  scarce,  for  the  lands  lay  untilled  for  want  of 
labourers. 

Lauzun  accompanied  James  on  his  expedition  to 
Ireland.  On  their  return,  at  the  request  of  James, 
Louis  received  Lauzun  again  into  favour,  and  gave 
him  the  title  of  duke.  James  created  this  vain- 
glorious swaggerer  a  Knight  of  the  Garter,  and 
presented  him  with  the  insignia  of  the  order  that 
had  belonged  to  Charles  L  Lauzun  was  once 
more  lodged  at  Versailles  with  the  court.  Made- 
moiselle protested  vehemently  against  it  ;  but  the 
miseries  of  the  country  were  too  absorbing  to  al- 
low of  attention  being  given  to  her  complaints. 
Mademoiselle  died  in  1693,  and  Lauzun  duly 
mourned  for  her  in  black,  relieved  with  blue  and 
white  —  silver  and  gold  being  prohibited  on  ac- 
count of  the  national  distress.  A  few  years  after, 
he  married  Mademoiselle  de  Lorges,  a  younger 
sister  of  the  young  Duchess  de  Saint  Simon. 
Being  a  second  time  left  a  widower,  he  retired  to 
the  convent  of  Les  petits  Augustins,  in  Paris,  and 
died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity  at  the  patriarchal 
age  of  ninety-one. 

In  1695  the  magistrates  of  Paris  were  excused 


322  OLD   PAKIS 

by  the  king  from  presenting  him  with  their  accus- 
tomed New  Year's  offerings.  The  fetes  of  the 
jour  du  rot  were  suppressed,  and  the  plays  and 
masquerades  of  the  carnival.  The  misery  of  France 
seemed  complete  as  the  century  drew  towards  its 
close.  Famine,  pestilence,  and  war  had  exhausted 
the  resources  of  the  country.  Louis  had  neither 
money  nor  men.  The  people  were  dying  of  hun- 
ger, and  refused  to  serve  a  king  whose  highest  aim 
was  to  gratify  his  own  ambition. 

Of  the  last  fifteen  years  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIV.  the  page  of  history  tells  a  sorrowful  tale.  It 
was  a  period  unfavourable,  also,  to  Ics  belles  lettres, 
and  to  the  progress  of  science  and  art.  Cele- 
brated women  and  men,  distinguished  for  learning, 
genius,  and  eloquence,  gradually  died  off,  but  left 
no  successors.  ^^  La  nature  semblait  se  reposc7','' 
says  Voltaire.  Lulli  and  his  collaboratenr,  Oui- 
nault,  died  within  a  year  of  each  other —  1687  and 
1688.  Le  Grand  Corneille,  Racine,  Moliere,  La 
Bruyere,  Duche,  Pelisson,  and  La  Fontaine  were 
dead.  Bossuet,  Bourdaloue,  and  Mascaron  died  in 
the  same  year — 1701.  Mademoiselle,  Mesdames 
de  La  Fayette,  de  Sable,  Des  Houlieres,  and  de 
Sevigne  all  within  three  years — 1693  to  1696. 
And  many  other  distinguished  men  and  women 
who  shed  lustre  on  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  dis- 
appeared from  the  stage  of  life  at  about  the  same 
time. 

The  traditions  of  the  famous   Hotel  de   Ram- 


MADAME   DE  LAMBERT  323 

boLiillet,  " /t'  bcrccau  de  la  soci(^td  polic,''  yet  sur- 
vived at  the  hotel  of  the  Marquise  de  Lambert  — 
that  splendid  hotel  in  the  He  St.  Louis,  designed 
by  the  architect  Levau,  decorated  and  painted  by 
Lesueur  and  Le  Brun,  and  which  has  been  in 
modern  times  restored  by  Prince  Czartoriski. 
Madame  de  Lambert,  whose  mother,  the  Marquise 
de  Courcelles,  married  as  her  second  husband  the 
famous  bel-e sprit,  Bachaumont  —  who  christened 
the  Fronde  —  not  only  received  a  distinguished 
circle  of  the  literati  and  the  bcaii  mondc,  but  was 
herself  a  writer.  She  published  a  collection  of 
"Portraits;"  "  Une  traite  sur  I'amitie ; "  a  ro- 
mance, "  La  femme  hermite  ;  "  and  "  Avis  d'une 
mere  a  son  fils,  et  d'une  mere  a  sa  fille,"  the  last 
being  her  most  esteemed  work.  The  Duchess  du 
Maine,  who,  ugly  and  deformed,  received  compli- 
mentary verses  on  her  great  beauty  when  she  was 
between  sixty  and  seventy  years  of  age,  was  not 
celebrated  as  the  patroness  of  those  beaux  esprits 
Lamothe,  Saint  Aulaire,  Fontenelle,  Chaulieu,  and 
others,  until  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  in  1736. 
But  in  1700  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery  still 
lived.  She  was  ninety-three,  and  had  given  up 
her  "Saturdays"  only  five  years  before.  The 
friends  of  her  early  days  had  of  course  passed 
away,  but  she  had  lived  so  long  that  their  succes- 
sors had  become  old  friends,  and  a  large  circle 
still  constantly  visited  her  —  the  French  being  far 
less    neglectful    of    the    ties    of    relationship    and 


324  OLD   PARIS 

friendship  than  are  the  English.  She  continued 
to  write,  up  to  the  age  of  eighty-five,  and  is  said  to 
have  regretted  that  so  much  of  her  early  life  had 
been  spent  in  writing  romances.  She  became 
deaf  and  feeble,  but  her  mind  remained  perfectly 
clear  and  vigorous.  Her  friends  compared  her  to 
a  sibyl  to  whom  the  power  of  eloquent  speech 
alone  remained.  On  the  morning  of  the  2nd  of 
June,  1 70 1,  she  rose  early,  as  was  still  her  cus- 
tom. Soon  after,  she  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
weakness,  and  said  to  her  servant :  "  Bettme,  je 
sens  qit  il  faiit  moiit'ir."  Her  confessor  and  her 
medical  attendant  were  sent  for,  but  she  had 
breathed  her  last  before  they  arrived. 

Two   churches  claimed   the   right   to   bury  her 

—  that  of  the  "  Hopital  des  enfants  rouges," 
where  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to  be  buried, 
and  that  of  "  Saint  Nicolas-des-champs,"  the  parish 
in  which  she  had  resided  for  fifty  years.  Cardinal 
de  Noailles  decided  in  favour  of  the  latter,  and 
there,  on  the  evening  of  the  3rd  of  June,  1701, 
she  was  interred.  No  monument  to  her  memory, 
no  epitaph  or  inscription  now  exists  in  that 
church.  She  died  in  straitened  circumstances, 
her  brother  having  spent  nearly  all  the  large 
profits  derived  from  her  novels,  and  the  pensions 
conferred  on  her  being  rarely  paid. 

Another  celebrity  of   the   seventeenth   century 
still   survived  —  Mademoiselle   Ninon   de  Lenclos 

—  charming,  it  is  said,  to  the  last.      In   1700  she 


NINON  DE   LENCLOS  325 

was  eighty-four,  and  still  held  her  weekly  reunions 
in  the  same  house  in  the  Rue  des  Tournelles, 
The  beau  moiidc  of  both  sexes,  men  of  letters, 
and  men  of  science,  and  those  who  aspired  to  be 
thought  beaux  csprits  —  though  esprit  had  gone 
out  of  fashion,  because,  as  with  many  other  good 
things  in  those  times  of  general  scarcity,  there 
was  a  dearth  of  it  —  assembled  at  five  o'clock  in 
a  well-warmed  apartment  she  called  her  salle 
d'Jiiver.  On  its  walls  hung  portraits  of  her 
friends,  painted  by  the  first  artists  of  the  day. 
The  company  retired  at  nine,  for  though  not  in 
ill  health,  she  was  delicate  and  fragile,  unable  to 
bear  the  fatigue  of  much  conversation,  and  needed 
quiet  and  repose.  In  summer  she  used  the 
Psyche  salon,  which  was  sunny,  and  had  a  pleas- 
ant view  of  the  boulevards,  and  her  hours  were 
a  little  later.  Jean  de  la  Chapelle,  then  of  her 
society,  wrote : 

"  II  ne  faut  pas  qu'on  s'etonne, 
Si  souvent  elle  raisonne, 
De  la  sublime  vertu, 
Dont  Platon  fut  revetu. 
Car,  k  bien  compter  son  age, 
Elle  peut  avoir  vdcut 
Avec  ce  grand  personnage." 

Madame  de  Maintenon  is  said  never  to  have  lost 
her  interest  in  this  friend  of  her  less  prosperous, 
but  happier,  days,  and  to  have  been  desirous  of 


326  OLD   PARIS 

affording  the  king  the  pleasure  of  seeing  and  con- 
versing with  the  aged  enchantress.  She  desired, 
too,  that  she  should  become  less  of  a  philosopher 
and  more  of  a  devotee.  But  her  overtures  were 
not  met  by  Ninon  as  she  had  hoped  they  would 
be.  Mademoiselle  de  Lenclos  was  not  disposed 
to  visit  Versailles,  even  to  amuse  the  great  Louis. 
She  thanked  her  friend  for  her  kind  intentions, 
but  made  her  comprehend  that  for  her  it  was  too 
late  to  begin  to  learn  ^^  Tart  de  dissimider  et  de 
se  contraindre." 

In  the  last  year  of  her  life  some  verses  that 
Arouet  (Voltaire),  then  a  mere  child,  had  written 
on  her  ninetieth  birthday  —  October  1 7,  1 706  — 
were  shown  to  her  by  the  Abbe  Chateauneuf. 
Ninon  desired  to  see  the  youthful  poet,  and  her 
friend  took  him  to  visit  her.  His  conversation, 
and  intelligent  replies  to  the  questions  she  put  to 
him,  pleased  her  greatly,  and  she  advised  him  to 
be  diligent  in  acquiring  learning,  also  to  continue 
to  write  poetry.  A  few  weeks  afterwards  she 
died  —  very  calmly  and  from  sheer  exhaustion  of 
nature.  Unable  to  sleep  on  the  last  night  of  her 
life,  she  is  said  to  have  composed  the  following 
lines,  which  were  taken  down  by  the  friends  who 
attended  her  death-bed : 

"  Q'un  vain  espoir  ne  vienne  point  s'offrir 
Qui  puisse  ebranler  mon  courage, 
Je  suis  en  age  de  mourir, 

Que  ferais  je  ici  davantage?" 


1715  327 

In  her  will  she  left  young  Arouet  a  thousand 
livres  to  purchase  books  for  his  studies. 

Of  literary  women  of  any  distinction,  there 
remained  at  the  close  of  the  century  only  Madame 
Dacier,  Madame  de  Lambert,  and  Madame  de 
Maintenon  —  whose  letters,  in  a  literary  point  of 
view,  far  surpass  those  of  Madame  de  Sevigne  ;  she 
also  wrote  a  work  for  the  use  of  Saint  Cyr.  Of 
distinguished  men,  Fenelon,  Flechier,  and  Boileau 
were  then  living,  but  died  before  the  king.  Mas- 
sillon,  Fleury,  Lamothe,  Jean  Baptiste  Rousseau, 
and  Fontenelle,  —  who  reached  the  age  of  one 
hundred,  —  with  many  others  of  lesser  note  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  survived  far  into  the 
eighteenth. 

In  171 5  the  long  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  ended. 
"  An  end  very  different  from  its  beginning.  He 
received  his  kingdom  powerful  and  preponderating 
abroad,  tranquil  and  contented  at  home ;  he  left 
it  weakened,  humiliated,  discontented,  impover- 
ished, and  already  filled  with  the  seeds  of  the 
Revolution."* 

*  Roederer  —  "  Memoires  pour  servir,"  etc. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Close  of  the  Reign  of  Louis  XIV.  —  Paris  in  17 15.  —  Hotels  of 
the  Noblesse.  —  Coach-building.  —  Misery  and  Famine.  — 
Italian  Opera  Prohibited.  —  Grand  Altar  of  Notre  Dame.  — 
Faubourg  St.  Germain,  1690.  —  Death  of  the  Grand 
Monarque. 

i|ARIS,  at  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIV.,  though  for  upwards  of  thirty 
years  the  court  had  forsaken  it  as  a 
residence,  and  the  Louvre  and  the  Tuileries  were 
greatly  in  need  of  repair,  was  a  much  finer  city 
than  when,  in  1661,  the  king  took  the  reins  of 
government  in  hand.  Its  streets  were  ill-paved 
and  ill-lighted ;  but  for  more  than  a  hundred  years 
after,  the  same  might  be  said  of  them.  A  stream 
of  black  mud  ran  down  their  centre,  and,  when 
any  vehicle  passed,  foot  passengers  had  to  beat 
a  hasty  retreat  through  any  open  doorway  they 
could  find  if  they  would  avoid  a  mud  shower-bath 
or  escape  being  crushed  against  the  walls  of  the 
houses  ;  for  foot-pavements  there  were  none,  and 
the  streets  generally  were  so  narrow  that  there 
was  not  space  to  allow  of  them.  But  Paris  now 
extended  far  beyond  its  ancient  limits,  and  since 
the  destruction  of  the  old  ramparts  and  bastions, 
328 


IldTELS   OF   THE   NOBLESSE  329 

the  faubourgs  had  become  united  by  new  build- 
ings to  the  city.  A  new  boulevard  had  been 
planted  on  either  side  of  the  river,  and  another 
from  the  Porte  St.  Antoine  to  the  Porte  St. 
Honore ;  so,  notwithstanding  that  the  streets  in 
the  centre  of  the  city  were  miserably  dirty,  there 
were  fine  open  walks  around  it.  The  part  lying 
between  the  Rue  Montmartre  and  the  Cit6  de 
Notre  Dame  had  been  partially  cleared  of  its 
network  of  dilapidated  old  tenements,  and  new 
streets,  with  fine  hotels,  had  taken  its  place.  In 
every  new  street  opened  during  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIV.  there  was  placed,  in  some  part  of  it,  a  bust 
of  the  monarch  in  a  full  court  wig. 

Monsieur  had  enlarged  the  Palais  Royal.  The 
Rue  Colbert,  crossing  the  Rues  Vivienne  and  De 
Richelieu,  was  finished.  "  Le  Sieur  de  Lulli  "  — 
who  became  a  rich  man  before  he  died,  and 
'*  drew  a  large  revenue  from  his  operas  and  a 
vast  concourse  of  people  to  his  music" — -had  a 
very  fine  hotel  in  the  Rue  Vivienne.*  The  Hotel 
de  Louvois  was  remarkable  for  its  "  marvellously 
wrought  "  locks,  which  were  kept  so  bright  that 
they  had  the  appearance  of  silver ;  and  several 
other  of  the  hotels  of  the  noblesse  had  exceedingly 
curious  locks.  The  Rue  du  Grand  Chantier  was 
full  of  handsome  houses.  Many  of  them  were 
built  by  Mansard,  and  contained  fine  specimens  of 

*  I.ulli's  tomb  and  bronze  bust  are  in  the  church  of  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires. 


330  OLD   PARIS 

his  work,  in  the  elaborate  carvings  of  the  broad 
and  lofty  grand  staircases. 

Splendidly  furnished,  too,  were  most  of  these 
princely  dwellings.  But  the  silver  and  gold  —  in 
many  instances  priceless  works  of  art  —  which  once 
abounded  in  them  had  been  carried  to  the  mint 
when,  to  supply  funds  for  Louis's  wars,  private  in- 
dividuals were  stripped  of  their  valuables.  Still, 
rich  tapestries  adorned  the  walls,  and  the  hangings 
of  the  massive  state  beds  were  of  the  richest  satins, 
heavily  embroidered  —  marvellous  specimens  of 
needlework,  as  well  as  of  patience  and  skill.  But 
with  all  this  display,  this  taste  and  grandeur,  little 
regard  was  given  to  cleanliness  in  these  vast  hotels, 
or  even  in  the  royal  palaces  ;  and  of  comfort  there 
may  be  said  to  have  been  none.  Crowds  of  lackeys 
and  pages  infested  them,  but  for  ornament  rather 
than  use,  their  chief  duty  being  to  display  the  rich 
liveries  of  the  grand  seigneiir  or  grande  dame  to 
whose  household  they  were  attached. 

Coach-building  made  considerable  progress  in 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  The  royal  carriages 
were  splendid.*  Those  of  the  nobility  and  the 
beau  monde  generally,  though  rather  too  large, 
were  not  only  elegant  but  comfortable  and  well 

*  In  the  superb  collection  of  ancient  royal  carriages  belong- 
ing to  the  King  of  Portugal,  in  Lisbon,  there  is  a  magnificent 
carriage  presented  by  Louis  XIV.  to  Don  Juan  V.  on  his  mar- 
riage. It  is  finely  carved  ;  the  panels  were  painted  by  Jouvenot. 
On  one  of  them  is  a  portrait  of  Louis,  said  to  be  an  excellent 
likeness. 


MISERY  AND   FAMINE  331 

slung,  and  all  were  furnished  with  glass  windows 
and  sun-blinds.  As  many  as  eight  hundred  car- 
riages might  be  seen  on  the  fashionable  drive  of 
the  Cours  de  la  Reine  on  a  fine  day  in  the  Paris 
season. 

The  Pont  Royal,  the  Royal  Observatory,  de- 
signed by  Perrault,  and  the  Hotel  des  Invalides 
were,  as  before  mentioned,  built  by  Louis  XIV. 
The  Place  des  Victoires  was  constructed  in  1685 
by  that  most  servile  of  courtiers,  the  Marechal  de 
Feuillade,  who  gave  80,000  livres  for  the  ground 
—  the  site  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Ferte  Senneterre 
and  its  gardens  —  in  order  to  place  there  the  statue 
of  the  king.  The  Place  was  lighted  at  each  cor- 
ner by  four  lanterns,  surmounting  a  triangular 
column.  On  the  pedestals  were  fulsome  inscrip- 
tions in  honour  of  Louis  XIV. 

In  1 69 1  several  old  houses  were  cleared  away. 
The  building  of  the  Rue  de  la  Monnaie  was  con- 
tinued, and  the  Rue  du  Roule  was  opened.  But 
famine  and  poverty  prevented  many  desirable 
changes  from  being  carried  out,  and  caused  many 
intended  embellishments  in  different  parts  of  the 
city  to  be  given  up.  Paris  was  full  of  indigent 
people  who  had  sought  refuge  there  from  the 
misery  and  distress  of  the  provinces.  Those  who 
could  labour  were  employed  in  the  king's  works  ; 
those  who  were  either  unable  or  unwilling  to  do 
so,  if  they  begged,  were  sent  to  Bicetre,  and  when 
released,  menaced  with  the  galleys  if  they  repeated 


332  OLD   PARIS 

the  offence.  There  was  occasionally  a  distribution 
of  bread  to  these  starving  creatures.  But  so  se- 
vere, and  so  stringently  executed  were  the  regula- 
tions respecting  them,  that  the  greater  part  fled 
from  the  evils  that  beset  them,  and  perished  by 
hundreds  from  hunger  and  disease. 

In  1697,  the  king  becoming  more  and  more  de- 
vout, the  Italian  comedians  were  driven  from  Paris. 
They  had  possession  of  the  Theatre  de  Bourgogne, 
and  hitherto  had  been  favoured  with  the  royal  pat- 
ronage. But  now  it  was  withdrawn,  and  they  were 
ordered  to  give  up  the  theatre  to  the  lieutenant  of 
the  police,  who  put  seals  on  the  doors.  The  troupe 
dispersed,  and  appeared  no  more  in  Paris  until 
1 7 16,  when  the  Regent  Orleans  again  allowed 
them  the  use  of  the  Theatre  de  Bourgogne. 

The  Place  Louis  le  Grand  —  now  Place  Ven- 
dome  —  was  begun  in  1699.  The  old  Hotel  de 
Vendome  stood  there,  and  blocked  up  and  dis- 
figured the  entrance  to  Paris  on  the  side  of  the 
Rue  St.  Honore,  preventing  also  any  communi- 
cation with  the  Rue  Neuve  St.  Honore  and  the 
Rue  des-Petits-Champs.  The  king  found  money  to 
buy  this  hotel  and  the  neighbouring  convent  of  Les 
Capucines.  The  convent  was  rebuilt ;  the  new 
Place  was  planned,  the  surrounding  buildings 
being  intended  to  receive  the  "Bibliotheque  du 
roi."  But  when  partly  erected,  the  king  disap- 
proved the  plan.  It  was  a  perfect  square  ;  he 
preferred  that  its  corners  should  be  cut  off.     The 


GRAND   ALTAR    OF  NOTRE   DAME  333 

whole  was  therefore  taken  down,  and  the  materials 
offered  to  the  municipality  of  Paris  to  build  bar- 
racks for  the  second  company  of  Mousquetaires, 
if  the  city  would  undertake  to  re-erect  the  Place. 
The  offer  was  accepted,  and  the  Place  Vendome 
built  in  its  present  form.  An  equestrian  statue  of 
Louis  XIV.  was  placed  in  the  centre,  but  the  sur- 
rounding houses  were  not  entirely  completed  until 
after  the  king's  death.  This  Place  was  one  of  the 
great  improvements  of  the  city. 

In  the  same  year  the  king  resolved  to  accom- 
plish his  father's  vow,  made  in  February,  1638, 
to  rebuild  the  grand  altar  of  the  cathedral  of 
Notre  Dame,  in  commemoration  of  the  placing 
of  his  kingdom  under  the  special  protection  of  the 
Virgin.  It  was  finished  only  the  year  before  the 
king's  death,  the  work  having  been  for  some  time 
suspended  because  of  the  national  misfortunes 
and  reverses.  This  grand  monument  was  de- 
stroyed in  1793,  and  ^^  sur  les  pompatx  debris  de 
V antique  imposture''  was  erected  a  symbolical 
mountain,  on  which  was  elevated  the  statue  of  the 
Goddess  of  Reason!  In  1803  the  present  altar 
was  reconstructed. 

In  1703  the  city  and  its  faubourgs  were  divided 
into  twenty  "quartiers."  The  wall  inclosing  the 
university  was  taken  down,  and  the  moat  filled  up. 
The  four  gates  that  separated  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain  from  the  rest  of  Paris  were  removed, 
and   the   Ouartier   St.   Germain,   as   the  faubourg 


334  OLD    PARIS 

was  thenceforth  called,  was  no  longer  a  distinct 
portion  of  the  city.  It  was,  however,  the  pleas- 
antest  and  healthiest  part  of  it.  Its  hotels,  some 
of  the  finest  in  Paris,  were  surrounded  by  exten- 
sive gardens  and  pleasure  grounds.  An  old 
"Englished  Guide  to  Paris,"  date  1690,  says: 
"  This  faubourg  may  be  compared  with  some  great 
towns  in  Europe  which  are  much  talked  of, 
according  to  the  opinion  of  strangers  themselves, 
to  whom  the  dwellings  here  appear  so  pleasing 
that  they  prefer  this  part  of  the  town  to  all  the 
rest  of  Paris.  And  they  have  great  reason  for  so 
doing,  since  all  things  abound  here." 

The  only  theatre  where  French  plays  were  per- 
formed was  in  the  Rue  de  Seine.  But  the  troupe 
seems  to  have  been  an  inferior  one ;  neither  the 
tragedies  of  Corneille  and  Racine,  nor  the  com- 
edies of  Moliere  were  given,  but  pieces  of  little 
merit  by  obscure  writers  of  the  day.  The  king 
had  set  his  face  against  the  poor  players,  and  the 
theatre  was  therefore  but  little  patronized  by  the 
beau  mondc. 

In  171 5  the  population  of  Paris,  including  the 
faubourgs,  amounted  to  four  hundred  and  eighty 
thousand  souls.  The  city  was  improved,  no 
doubt,  but  there  was  not  the  same  life  and  activ- 
ity in  it  as  in  the  good  old  times  before  the 
Fronde.  The  spirit  of  independence  was  nearly 
crushed  out  of  the  people ;  they  were  submissive 
and   resigned   under  the   heavy   calamities    which 


DEATH   OF   THE    GRAND   MONARQUE      335 

the  king's  extravagance  and  vain  ambition  had 
brought  on  them.  A  little  feverish  agitation  was 
sometimes  apparent,  but  the  fear  of  the  Bastille 
and  the  Place  de  la  Greve  soon  quelled  it. 

The  news  of  the  king's  death  was  received 
almost  with  indifference  by  the  populace.  Per- 
haps it  excited  some  slight  emotion  in  the  ranks 
of  the  bourgeoisie.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  feeling 
of  the  people  was  one  of  subdued  joy ;  and 
throughout  society  there  was  a  sensation  of  relief 
when  it  became  generally  known  that  The 
Grand  Monarque  was  Dead. 


THE    END. 


INDEX 

Abbes,  les,  II.,  219,  220. 

Academie  Franfaise,  I.,  36,  49,  148  et  seq.,  215,  229,  241  ;  II., 
45,  46,  47,  67,  89,  164,  295,  296. 

"Academie,  Petite,"  I.,  145  et  seq. 

Albert,  Charles  d',  I.,  59,  68,  74,  (Due  de  Luynes)  76,  77,  79. 

Albret,  Madame  d',  II.,  212,  213. 

Albret,  Marechal  d',  II.,  98,  100,  207,  211,  212,  213,  221. 

"  Alcaiidre,  Amours  du  grand,"  I.,  43. 

Alcoves,  I.,  48  ;  II.,  lOl. 

Amyot,  I.,  6. 

Angennes,  Claire  Angelique  d',  I.,  157,  233,  (Comtesse  de  Grig- 
nan)  298,  299;  II.,  63,  115. 

Angennes,  Julie  d',  I.,  48,  100,  105,  115,  132,  133,  134,  135,  136, 
141,  152,  157,  181,  213,  214,  215,  233,  234,  242,  246, 
(Duchesse  de  Montausier)  294,  295,  297,  298,  300 ;  II.,  54, 
55.  58,  63,  76,  1 1 5,  1 16,  233,  272,  273. 

Anne  of  Austria,  I.,  32,  66  et  seq.,  87,  88,  89,  92,  96,  97,  100, 
120,  126  et  seq.,  170,  173,  174,  188,  189,  190,  205  et  seq., 
216,  221  et  seq.,  231,  232,  240,  249,254  et  seq.,  259  et  seq., 
265  et  seq.,  276,  277,  283  et  seq.,  293,  302,  306,  308,  310 ; 
II.,  3  et  seq.,  16  et  seq.,  24,  25,  26,  28,  29,  30,  31,  32,  33,  36, 
40  et  seq.,  56,  62,  70  et  seq.,  83,  92,  95,  100,  103,  104,  112, 
120,  124,  125,  127,  128,  130,  131,  141,  146,  148  et  seq.,  153, 
i8i,  183,  197,  198,  211,  243,  270. 

Anne  of  Brittany,  I.,  2,  3,  7,  20. 

Arnaud,  II.,  260. 

Artagnan,  M.  d',  II.,  172,  173. 

"  Astree,"  I.,  38  et  seq.,  55,  87,  177  ;  II.,  102. 

Aubigne,  Fran9oise  d',  II.,  44  et  seq.,  (Madame  Scarron)  47,  50 
et  seq.,  78,  81,  98,  99,  100,  123,  126,  149,  152,  153,  211   et 
seq.,  218,  220,  221,  222,  223,  287,  289,  (Madame  de  Mainte- 
non)  299,  300,  301,  306,  307,  316,  317,  320,  325,  326,  327. 
337 


338  OLD    PARIS 

Avaiix,  Comte  d',  I.,  138,  139,  299,  303,  304,  305. 

Bachaumont,  Fran9ois  de,  II.,  11,  49,  64,  323. 

Baillet,  Adrien,  II.,  275. 

Balzac,  Jean  Louis  de,  I.,  yj,  55,  92,  93,  94,  95,  99, 148  ;  II.,  58,  59. 

Band,  Royal,  I.,  45;  II.,  131,  133,  134,  194,  203. 

Baron,  II.,  245. 

Bassompierre,  Marechal  de,  I.,  63,  80,  96,  222. 

Bastille,  I.,  23,  66,  71,  80,  81,  84,  222,  277  ;  II.,  30,  37,  38,  137, 

143,   154,  169,  173,  174,  181,  233,  257,  267,  295,  335. 
Bavaria,  Princess  of  (Marie  Anne  Christine  Victoire,  "la  dauph- 

ine"),  II.,  299,  300,  305. 
Beaufort,  Due  de,  I.,  174,  223,  224,  225,  276,  277,  287,  288;  II., 

26,  29,  33. 
Beauvais,  Bishop  of,  I.,  222,  223,  224,  225,  287. 
Belle  Isle,  Marquis  de,  XL,  177. 
Belles-Lettres,  Academie  des,  II.,  164. 
Benserade,  I.,  136,  215  ;  II.,  188,  204,  301. 
Bernini,  II.,  158  et  seq. 
Berulle,  Pierre  de,  I.,  160,  161,  167. 
Beuning,  Mynheer  van,  II.,  229. 
Bibliotheque  Royale,  I.,  23;  XL,  140,  162,  274,  332. 
Blancmenil,  II.,  4,  11,  13. 

Blois,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  289,  (Princesse  de  Conti)  303. 
Boileau,  X.,  34,  39,  56,84,  240;  XL,  65,  66,  135,  187,  189,  190, 

219,  295,  327. 
Boisrobert,  L,  94,  95,  98,  146  et  seq. 
Bordier,  IL,  309,  310,  311. 
Bossuet,  L,  236  et  seq.;  XL,  66,  131,    (Bishop  of  Condom)  197, 

224   et   seq.,  233,  242   et  seq.,  246,  271,  272,  273,  288,  289, 

(Bishop  of  Meaux)  291,  293,  294,  295,  298,  308,  315,  316, 

322. 
Xlotanic  Garden,  L,  199,  209,  245;  XL,  17. 
Bouillon,  Due  de,  L,  195;  IL,  26,  30,  180,  305. 
Bourbon,  Anne  de,  L,  77,  169  et  seq.,  (Duchesse  de  Longueville) 

182  et  seq.,  211  et  seq.,  235,  236,  242,  250,  275,  279,  2S1   et 

seq.,  293,  300,  301  et  seq.,  310,  31 1  ;  XL,   19,  20,  21  et  seq., 

24,  27,  28,  30,  31,  32,  38,  41,  54,  61,  63,  125,  281,  282,  304. 
Bourdaloue,  IL,  244,  246,  289  et  seq.,  305,  315,  322. 
Bribery,  I.,  6  ;  IL,  60,  171,  186,  227,  237,  238. 


INDEX  339 

Brissac,  Due  de,  II.,  29. 

Broussel,  Commandeur,  II.,  37. 

Broussel,  Councillor,  II.,  4,  5,  6,  7,  11,  12,  13,  15. 

Burgundy,  Duke  of,  II.,  247,  249. 

Bussy-Rabutin,  Comte  de,  II.,  168,  169,  170,  181. 

Candale,  Due  de,  II.,  21. 

Carignan,  Comtesse  de,  II.,  8. 

Carriages,  I.,  17,  18,  129,  203,  245,  246,  267,  268;  II.,  231,  232, 

330.  1>1>^- 
Casimir,  Jean,  II.,  56. 

Caylu.s,  Madame  de  {iice  de  Murray),  II.,  52,  98,  218,  316,  317. 
Champaigne,  Philippe  de,  I.,  260;  II.,  8i. 
Chimpmesle,  II.,  i8g,  245. 
Chantilly,  Chateau  de,  I.,  81,  99,  177  et  seq.,  211 ;  II.,  148,  261 

et  seq.,  297. 
Chapelain,  Jean,  I.,  84,  92,  121,  148,  151,  152,  213;  II.,  48,  67, 

78,  169,  190,  191. 
Chapelle,  Claude,  II.,  64. 
Charity,  Sisters  of,  I.,  164. 
Charles  IX.,  I.,  6,  148;  II.,  159. 

Charles  Paris,  II.,  28,  (Due  de  Longueville)  280  et  seq. 
Charles  Stuart,  Prince  of  Wales,  I.,  17,  309,  310;  II.,  iii,  119, 

(Charles  II.)  119,  124,  128,  156,  181,  225,  231,  236,  237,  238, 

284,  310,311. 
Charton,  II.,  4,  11. 
Chateauneuf,  Abbe,  II.,  326. 
Chateauneuf,  Madame  de,  I.,  287. 
Chateaunormand,  Diane  de,  I.,  39,  40. 
Chaudebonne,  M.  de,  I.,  139. 
Chavigny,  M.  de,  I.,  140. 
Chemerault,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  151. 
Cheron,  Mademoiselle,  II.,  183. 
Chevreau,  Urbain,  II.,  60. 
Chevreuse,  Due  de,  I.,  106. 

Chevreuse,  Madame  de,  I.,  •]•],  88,  247,  284,  285,  287 ;  II.,  49. 
Chevreuse,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  8. 

Christina  of  Sweden,  I.,  267  et  seq. ;  II.,  60,  82,  85  et  seq. 
Cinq  Mars,  I.,  181,  190,  195  et  seq. 
Claude,  Jean,  II.,  244. 


340  o/.n  PARJs 

Cleanliness,  I.,  17,46,  123,    124,  165,  209,  306;  II.,  90,  9^,   155, 

1 56.  328,  329.  330- 
"  Clelic"  II.,  66,  67,  79,  80. 
Coigneux,  President,  II.,  10. 
Colbert,  II.,  83,  144,  149,157,  165,   166,   167,   171,    172,   173,   175, 

176,  203,  264,  269. 
Coligny,  Comte  de,  I.,  255,  257,  258,  275,  279,  280,  281,  283,  2S7 

et  seq.,  293. 
College  of  France,  I.,  5,  63. 
Colonne,  le  Connetable,  II.,  112. 
Combalet,  Madame  de,  I.,   153  et   seq.,  (Duchesse    d'Aiguillon) 

155  et  seq.,  159,  160,  166. 
Concini  (Marechal  d'Ancre),  I.,  21,  53,  60,  61,  68,  71  et  seq.,  79, 

153,  201;  II.,  13. 
Conde,  Prince  Henri  de  ("  M.  le  Prince"),  I.,   19,  71,  72,  77,  98, 

99,  100,140,  169,  171   et  seq.,  191,  212,  225,  232,  235,  257, 

283,  290,  300,  305,  306. 
Conde,  Princesse  de  ("Madame  la  Princesse"),  I.,  14,  57,  71,  72, 

77,  81,  94,  95,  98,  170  et  seq.,   191,  212,  213,  233,  235,  275, 

279,  283  et  seq.,  290,  300,  302,  306;  II.,  125. 
Conde,  the  Great,  I.,  77,  177,  178,  190,  (Due  d'Enghien)  191,  192, 

226,  231  et  seq.,  247,  257,  274,  275,  278,  283,  284,  288,  289, 

290,  292,  293,  294,  300,  301   et  seq.,  ("M.  le  Prince")  305; 

II.,  I,  13,  22,  27  et  seq.,  42,  54,  60,  61,  63,  66,  82,   124,   137, 

142,  148,  186,  187,  203,  227,   228,  254,   261    et  seq.,  281,  295, 

297,  298,  303,  304,  314  et  seq. 
Conrart,  I.,  145  et  seq.  ;   II.,  57. 
Conti,  Prince  de,  I.,  233,  235,  236,  279,  283,  2S4  ;  II.,  26,  29,  30, 

31,  42,  170,  303,  315. 
Conti,  Princesse  de  (Louise  de  Lorraine),  I.,  43. 
Coquerel,  General,  I.,  201. 
"Corinthians,  First  to  the,"  II.,  27. 
Corneille,  Pierre,  I.,  84,  92,  117,  118,   149  et  seq.,  205,  213,  242; 

II.,  48,  58,  59,  102,  112,  125,  136,137,  189,  190,  191,301,322, 

334- 
Corneille,  Thomas,  II.,  189,  190. 
Cornuel,  Madame  de,  II.,  215. 
Cotin,  Abbe,  I.,  240  et  seq.;  II.,  219. 
Coulanges,  Madame  de,  II.,  49,  215,  218. 


INDEX  341 

Council,  I.,  60,  79,  197,  206,  226,  232,  300;  II.,  3,  5,9,  II,  12, 
38,  172. 

Courcelles,  Marquise  de,  II.,  323. 

Cours  de  la  Reine,  I.,  63,  210,  245,  246,  248;  II.,  331. 

Crequi,  Due  de,  II.,  181. 

"  Cyrus,  ie grand"  I.,  177,  298;  II.,  6r  et  seq.,  74,79,80,89,  193. 

Dacier,  Madame,  II.,  66,  271,  272,  273  et  seq.,  327. 

Dacier,  M.,  II.,  274,  277. 

Dancing,  I.,  16,  45,  53,  67,  68,  102,  128,  169,  173,  176,  219,  236, 
251.  273,  274,  308  et  seq.;  II.,  16  et  seq.,  95,  123,  131,  135, 
151,  203,  204,  209,  238,  258,  259,  320. 

Dangeau,  Marquis  de,  II.,  208. 

Dauphin,  The  ("le grand  daiip/iiu"),  II.,  233,  270,  271,  272,  273, 
294,  299,  300,  302. 

Deformity,  I.,  236;  II.,  19,  94,  128,  142,  182,  323. 

Delorme,  Marion,  I.,  198. 

Des  Houlieres,  Madame,  II.,  183  et  seq.,  322. 

Des  Iveteaux,  Vauquelin,  I.,  41  et  seq. 

Desoeillets,  II.,  245. 

Des  Reaux,  Tallemant,  I.,  50,  60,  104,  142,  154,  207,  215  et  seq., 
234,  306;  II.,  8,  55,  62,  66,81. 

Dictionary  of  the  French  Academy,  I.,  151,  152,  172,  212. 

Dress,  Extravagance  in,  I.,  69,  128,  129,  130,  170,  174,  176,  181, 
196,  198,  275,  309;  II.,  148,  153,  154. 

Duche,  II.,  301,  320,  322. 

Duelling,  I.,  65,  66,  161,  162,  288  et  seq.,  299;  II.,  7,  33,  38,  187, 
188,  212. 

Dunquerque,  I.,  294;  XL,  iii,  237. 

Du  Plessis,  Armand  (Bishop  of  Lu9on),  I.,  56,  57,  77,  78,  (Car- 
dinal de  Richelieu)  79  et  seq.,  50,  51,  58,  83,  84,  87,  89,  92, 
94,  95,  96,  98,  99,  105,  120,  123,  129  et  seq.,  137,  146  et  seq., 
181,  187  et  seq.,  201,  206,  208,  209,  221,  222,  223,  225,  229, 
231,  288,  297;  II.,  2,  7,  14,  20,  42,  69,  70,  71,  72,  103,  119, 
214,  220. 

Education,  I.,  2,  3,  47,48,  191,  219,  251,  261  et  seq.;  II.,  86,  87, 
192,  193,  270,  271,  275. 

ElbcEuf,  Due  d',  II.,  26. 

Elizabeth,  Princess,  I.,  66. 

Emeri,  Particelli,  II.,  3. 


342  OLD   PARIS 

"Ell/ants  iroiives,  Les,"  I.,  164,  165. 

Enghien,  Ducd'  ("  M.le  Due  "),  11.,  33.  187,  188,  227,  265,  295,315. 

Enghien,  Duche.sse  d'  (nee  Maille  Breze),  I.,  191,  235;   II.,  (Mme. 

la  Princesse  de  Conde)  33,  125. 
Entragues,  Comtesse  de  Clermont  d',  I.,  102. 
Epernon,  Due  d',  I.,  17,  18,  19;  II.,  20,  21. 
Erlach,  Count  d',  II.,  30. 
Etrees,  Cardinal  d',  II.,  218,  222,  223. 
"  Euryale  et  de  Lucrhe,  Amours  d\"  I.,  37. 
Famine,  I.,  122,  165;  II.,  200,  321,  322,  331. 
Fenelon,  II.,  183,  246  et  seq.,  295,  296,  327. 
Feuillade,  Marechal  de,  II.,  138,  331. 
Feuquieres,  Marquis  de,  I.,  236,  237,  239. 
Fiesque,  Comte  de,  II.,  188. 
Fiesque,  Comtesse  de,  II.,  39,  49. 
Finance,  I.,  4,  5,  12,  16,  21,  46,  72,  73,  82,  129,  188,  208,  217,  228, 

229,  305;  II.,  I,  2,3,95,  "8,  141,   157,   171,  203,  247,  266, 

312,  320,  321,  322,  330,  335. 
"Finances,  surintendant  des,"  I.,  79;   II.,  2,  3,  76,  118,  143,  144, 

145,  172,  178. 
Fleehier,  Bishop  of  Nismes,  II.,  271,  273,  290,  298,  327. 
Fleury,  II.,  327. 

Fontanges,  Madame  de,  II.,  299,  305. 
Fontenelle,  II.,  323,  327. 
Fonterrault,  Abbess  of,  II.,  258. 
"Fools,"  I.,  143,  179;  II.,  202,  203,  270. 
Fouquerelles,  Madame  de,  I.,  283. 
Fouquet,  Nieolas,  II.,  76,  83,  122,  143  et  seq.,  167  et  seq.,  180, 

181,  233,  262,  263,  267,  296. 
Fourilles,  Vieomte  de,  II.,  236. 

Franeis  I.,  I.,  3,  4,  7,  24,  25,  63,  87,  112,  178;  II.,  160,  228. 
Friendships,  Old,  II.,  304,  323,  324. 
Fromentiere,  Abbe  de,  II.,  288. 
Fronde,  The,  I.,  140,  161,  229,  292,  311;  II.,  2  et  seq.,  18,  22, 

23,  25,  29,  31,  32,  34,  38,  41,  43,  44,  48,  49,  50,  55,  61,  67,  68, 

80,  99,  no,  123,  133,  141,  152,  155,  198,  201,  202,  269,  280, 

314,  323.  334- 
'■'  Frondenr,^''  ''Frondeiise"  II.,  Ii,  35,  36,39,  40,  49,  Si,  124,  125, 
141,  200,  201. 


INDEX  343 

Frontignac,  Comtesse  de,  II.,  39. 

Galagai,  Elenora,  I.,  72,  73,  75,  76. 

Gambling,  I.,  179,  218,  230,  279,  299;  II.,  52,  57,  68,  70,  131, 

168,  185,  193,  209,  217,  263,  266,  293,  317,  320. 
Gedouyn,  Abbe,  I.,  253. 
Gentaut,  M.  de,  I.,  256. 
Godeau,  Antoine,  I.,  147  ;  II.,  156. 
Gombauld,  Ogier  de,  I.,  36,  37,  55,  94. 
Gondy,  Jean   Fran9ois    Paul    de,   I.,    161  ;    II.,    (coadjuteur  de 

Paris)  5  et  seq.,  19,  25,  26,  27,  29,  (Cardinal  de  Retz)  31,  35, 

41,  49. 
Gonzague,  Louise  de,  II.,  55,  56. 
Gourville,  II.,  177,  264,  265,  266. 

Grammont,  Marshal,  I.,  232;  II.,  152,  181,  182,  280,  290. 
Greve,  Place  de,  I.,  75;  II.,  305,  335. 
Grignan,  Comte  de,  I.,  298,  299. 
Guiche,  Comte  de,  I.,  143;  II.,  152,  280. 
Guillerague,  I.,  299;  II.,  75. 
Guise,  Chevalier  de,  I.,  273,  274. 
Guise,  Due  de,  I.,  284,  288  et  seq. ;  II.,  89. 
Hautefort,  Madame  de,  I.,  88,  89,  (Duchesse  de  Schomberg)  228, 

247. 
Healing  Art,  I.,  146,  290;  II.,  57,  no,  in,  241. 
Henrietta,  Queen  (Henriette   de  France),  I.,  193,  309;  II.,   12, 

13,  25,  26,  150,  203,  224  et  seq.,  242. 
Henriette  d'Angleterre,  II.,  25,  124,  ("Madame")   128  et  seq., 

149  et  seq.,  203,  208,  221,  225,  231,  232,  237,  238,  239  et 

seq.,  242  et  seq. 
Henry  II.,  I.,  5,  24. 
Henry  III.,  I.,  6,  26,  27. 
Henry  IV.,  I.,  6  et  seq.,  9  et  seq.,  22,  27  et  seq.,  32,  33,  34,  35, 

38,  39,  43,  44,  45,  46,  48,  64,  69,  72,  78,  86,  87,  loi,  102,  1 28, 

171,  174,  184,  188,  206,  209,  213,  220,  231,  233,  262,  295,  296, 

309;  II.,  20,  100,  127,  184,  228,   279,  280,  303. 
Hotel  de  Ville,  I.,  28,  76;  II.,  16,  17,  21,  27,  28,  42,  280,  298. 
Hotel  Dieu,  I.,  164,  166. 
Huet,  Bishop,  I.,  41,  213;  II.,  106,  271. 
Huguenot,  I.,  6,  15,  26,  27,  28,  30,  31,  79,  89,  105,  135,  154,  194, 

214,  255,  257  ;   II.,  226,  272,  296,  30S,  316. 


344  OLD    PARIS 

''  Importants,  les,"  I.,  277,  282,  284,  287,  288. 
Invalides,  Hotel  des,  II.,  164,  331. 
James  II.,  II.,  319,  320,  321. 
Jansenism,  II.,  105,  107,  108,  117,  282,  283. 
Jews,  I.,  73,  74. 

Joigny,  Comte  de,  I.,  161,  162,  167. 
Jouvenet,  II.,  146,  330. 
Joyeuse,  Cardinal,  I.,  9. 

Keroual,    Mademoiselle    de,    II.,   232,   237,  (Duchess    of   Ports- 
mouth) 238,  239. 
La  Barre,  Mademoiselle,  II.,  124. 
I.a  Bruyere,  II.,  206,  291,  295,  301,  316,322. 
La  Calprenede,  Gaultier  de,  I.,  92,  107,  112,  113,  118,  177,  213  ; 

II.,  80. 
La  Chaise,  Pere,  II.,  293,  294. 
La  Chapelle,  Jean  de,  II.,  325. 
La  Fare,  Marquis  de,  I.,  49,  218  ;  II.,  317,  318. 
La  Fayette,    Madame    de,    II.,  67,  68,  78,  80,  105,  106,  129,  152, 

208,  215,  240,  268,  304,  305,  319,  322. 
La    Fayette,    Mademoiselle  de,   I.,  89,  90,   91,   188  ;  II.,  (Mere 

Angelique)  225,  259. 
La  Fontaine,  I.,  49,  56,  218  ;  II.,  48,  175,  184,  302,  322. 
La  Cardie,  Comte  de,  I.,  267  et  seq.  ;  II.,  89. 
Lambert,  Marquise  de,  II.,  323,  327. 
La  Meilleraie,  Marechal  de,  II.,  6,  (Due  de  Mazarin)  83,  84,  140 

et  seq.,  180,  181,  183. 
Lamothe,  M.  de,  II.,  275,  276,  323,  327. 
La  Porte,  I.,  222. 
La  Rochefoucauld   (Prince  de  Massillac),  I.,  99,   100,  255,    257, 

276,  277,  2S3  ;  II.,  19,  21  et  seq.,  30,  38,  41,  62,  78,  105,  106, 

107,  108,  114,  207,  208,  264,  280,  281,  304. 
La  Sabliere,  Madame  de,  I.,  49,  218,  255;  II.,  184,  195,302,317, 

318.^ 
La  Sabliere,  Rambouillet  de,  I.,  49,  218. 
Lastigue,  Nanon,  II.,  20,  21. 
La  Suze,  Comtesse  de,  I.,  136;  II.,  215. 
Lauzun,  Comte  de,  II.,  232,  233,   250  et  seq.,   259,  263,  267  et 

seq.,  286,  319,  321. 
La  Valette,  Cardinal  de,  I.,  94,  95,  230;   II,  7. 


INDEX  345 

La  Valliere,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  149,  152,  153,  (Duchesse  de 
Vaujour)  199,  221,  227,  232,  235,  238,  239,  257  et  seq.,  278, 
285,  286,  287,  28S.  289,  303. 

La  Veilliere,  M.  de,  I.,  202. 

League,  the,  I.,  6,  18,  26,  27,  39,  45,  289,  291  ;  II.,  10. 

Le  Brun,  II.,  122,  140,  146,  183,  313,  323. 

Leibnitz,  II.,  79,  97. 

Lenclos,  Ninon  de,  I.,  246  et  seq.,  269,  275,  277,  279  ;  II.,  50,  57, 
78,92,  116,  117,  142,  181,  182,  183,  195,  211,  213,  324  et  seq. 

Lenet,  Councillor,  II.,  lis- 

Lesdiguieres,  Hotel,  I.,  62,  63. 

LesAieur,  II.,  146,  323. 

Le  Tellier,  II.,  167,  168. 

Letters,  I.,  54,  93,  94,  109  et  seq.,  137,  138,  139,  180  et  seq.,  II., 

173- 

Le  Vayer,  M.  Lamothe,  I.,  262,  263. 

Liancourt,  Duchesse  de,  I.,  172. 

Longueville,  Due  de,  I.,  182,  183,  184,  276,  281,  282,  283,  284, 
303  et  seq.  ;  II.,  19,  20,  22,  26,  29,  31,  49,  62,  125. 

Longueville,  Mademoiselle  de,  I.,  182,  183,  184,  303;  II.,  (Duch- 
esse de  Nemours)  27. 

Lorges,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  321. 

Louis  XII.,  I.,  2,  4,  7,  14. 

Louis  XIII. ,  I.,  20,  21,  32,  42,  45,  46,  58  et  seq.,  63,  64,  66  et  seq., 
74,  76  et  seq.,  87  et  seq.,  96,  97,  104,  no,  125  et  seq.,  153, 
156,  157,  163,  187  et  seq.,  201,  202,  203,  205  et  seq.,  221, 
223,  225,  228,  231,  234,  249,  259;  II.,  62,  69,  104,  145,  164, 

225.  333- 

Louis  XIV.,  I.,  17,  32,  33,  87,  136,  159,  189,  192,  206,  222,  240, 
251,  259  et  seq.,  287,  288,  309,  310;  II.,  4,  12,  14,  16,  17, 
18,  24,  25,  27,  29,  30,  32,  33,  35,  36,  39,  40  et  seq.,  50  et  seq., 
68,  69,  70,  71,  73,  82,  85,  92,  94,  98,  99,  no  et  seq.,  117,  118, 
119  et  seq.,  128  et  seq.,  143  et  seq.,  156  et  seq.,  167,  168,  169, 
171,  172,  174,  175  et  seq.,  181, 182,  183,  192, 193, 194,  197  et 
seq.,  211,  214,  219  et  seq.,  226  et  seq.,  231  et  seq.,  243  et 
seq.,  252  et  seq.,  261  et  seq.,  267,  268,  269  et  seq.,  278,  279, 
280,  281  et  seq.,  285  et  seq.,  297  et  seq.,  307,  308,  309  et 
seq.,  314  et  seq.,  319  et  seq.,  326  et  seq.,  328  et  seq. 

LouvoLs,  II.,  227,  231,  235,  236,  254,  257,  267,  297,  29S,  320,  329. 


34^  OLD   PARIS 

Louvre,  I.,  3,  5,  7,  19,  22,  24,  26,  27,  29,  48,  64,  68,  71,  78,  86,  88, 
114,  120,  163,  169,  173,  176,  177,  240,  241,  259,  260,  287;  II., 
25.  30.  41.  78,  123,  124,  155,  157  et  seq.,  180,  200,  253,  311, 
328. 

Lulli,  I.,  53,  273;  II.,  132  et  seq.,  203,  270,  322,  329. 

Luxembourg,  Marechal,  II.,  226,  228,  298,  305. 

Luxembourg  Palace,  I.,  53,  54,  64,  78  ;  II.,  35,  36,  105,  208,  253, 

255- 
Luxembourg,  Petit,  I.,  51,  152  et  seq.,  177,  306,  307. 

Lyonne,  II.,  166,  229. 

"Madame"  (Elizabeth  Charlotte,  of  Bavaria),  II.,  293. 

Maille-Breze,  Marechal  de,  I.,  191. 

Maine,  Due  du,  II.,  268,  323. 

Maine,  Duchesse  du,  II.,  323. 

"  Maitres,  les peiits,"  II.,  29. 

'■'■  Alaitresse  en  titre"  II.,  100,  199,  239,  259. 

Malherbe,  I.,  7,  34  et  seq.,  37,  55,  56,  94,  100. 

Malleville,  M.  de,  II.,  59. 

Mancini,  Hortense  (Duchesse  de  Mazarin),  II.,  140,  141,  142. 

Mancini,  Maria,  II.,  iii,  112. 

"Man  in  the  Iron  Mask,"  II.,  137,  138. 

Manners,  I.,  4,  38,  44,  46,  85  et  seq.,  106,  107,  108,  iii,  156,  158, 

159,  179  et  seq.,  219,  233,  234,  245,  267;  II.,  69,   141,   142, 

180,  181,  203,  287,  305. 
Mansard,  Fran9ois,  I.,   259,  260,  261;    II.,    139,    157,   158,   159, 

164,  329. 
Mansard,  J.  H.,  XL,  164. 

Marais,  the,  I.,  61,  124,  217,  248,  250,  254,  255,  278,  297  ;  II.,  50. 
Marguerite  de  France,  I.,  10,  11,  39,  40,  47,  69,  70,  160. 
Maria  Theresa,  of  Spain,  II.,  51,  52,  in,   119  et  seq.,   130,  137, 

146,  148,  150,  176,   203,   209,  221,  222,  232,  235,  238,  239, 

254,  257,  258,  259,  278,  285  et  seq.,  300,  305. 
Marigny,  Blot  de,  II.,  14. 
Marillac,  Councillor,  I.,  80. 
Marlborough,  Duke  of,  II.,  249. 
Marly,  II.,  145,  147,  204,  305,  314,  320,  321. 
Marot,  Jean,  I.,  3. 
Marsillac,  Chevalier  de,  II.,  280. 
Marsillac,  Prince  de,  II.,  280. 


INDEX  347 

Martigny,  M.  de,  I.,  192,  303. 

Martinet,  General,  II.,  236,  281. 

Martinozzi,  Anna,  II.,  30,  (Princesse  de  Conti)  42,  241. 

Martin-Vost,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  74,  79,  (Madame  de  Scudery) 

125- 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scotland,  I.,  4,5. 

Mascaron,  II.,  290,  322. 

Massillon,  II.,  246,  327. 

Maulemont,  Marquis  de,  I.,  283,  284. 

'■' Maximes  et pensees"  I.,  99,  185,  276;  II.,  22,  105  et  seq.,  208. 

Mazarin,  I.,  189,  (Cardinal)  206,  207,  216,  222,  223,  224  et  seq., 
.261  et  seq.,  271,  276,  277,  284  et  seq.,  293,  301,  302,  305  et 
seq.,  311;  II.,  3,  4  et  seq.,  18,  21,  24,  25,  26,  29  et  seq.,  48, 
49,  54,  69,  70,  71,  73,  83,  89,  92,  94,  96,  97,  no.  III,  112, 
118,  119,  122,  123,  124,  126,  127,  130,  133,  139  et  seq.,  152, 
155,  157,  163,   165,  171,  172,  180,  181,  182,  188.  197,  233. 

"  Mazarinades,"  II.,  14,  44. 

Medicis,  Catherine  de,  I.,  6,  24,  25,  26,  27,  50,  75. 

Medicis,  Marie  de,  I.,  9  et  seq.,  19  et  seq.,  34,  36,  44,  48,  50, 
53,  S5>  58  et  seq.,  71,  72,  73,  76,  77  et  seq.,  87,  91,  128, 
129,  153,  154,  190,  192,  193,  194,  207,  208,  234;  II.,  256. 

Menage,  Abbe,  I.,  136,  234;  II.,  57,  67,  77,  83,  169,  275. 

MerccEur,  Due  de,  I.,  287. 

Meri,  Chevalier  de,  II.,  153. 

Mignard,  Pierre,  I.,  260;  II.,  81,  146- 

Milani,  Abbe,  II.,  123. 

Modena,  Maria,  II.,  319,  320. 

Mole,  Matthieu,  II.,  11,  12. 

Moliere,  I.,  32,  37,  136,  240;  II.,  82,  112  et  seq.,  123,  130,  132, 
136,  147,  184,  190  et  seq.,  201,  202,  204,  219,  245,  246,  260, 
301,  322,  334. 

Monaldeschi,  II.,  96. 

Montauron,  Seigneur  de,  I.,  202  et  seq.;  II.,  14. 

Montausier,  Due  de,  I.,  134  et  seq.,  141,  203,  204,  213,  214,  219, 
242,  244,  294,  295,  297,  298;  II.,  54,  63,  76,  116,  192,  194, 
233,  271,  272,  273. 

Montbazon,  Madame  de,  I.,  184,  224,  276,  279,  280  et  seq.,  304, 
310;  II.,  20,  78. 

Montchevreuil,  Duchesse  de,  II.,  211. 


348  OLD   PARIS 

Montespan,  Marquis  de,  II.,  221  et  seq.,  257,  260,  273. 
Montespan,  Marquise  de,  II.,  50,  52,   100,   153,  221  et  seq.,  227, 

232,  235,  238,  239,  257  et  seq.,  267,  268,  273,  278,  285,  286, 

287,  289,  293,  299,  300,  305,  314. 
Montmorenci,  Due  de,  I.,  81,  190,  191 ;  II.,  103,  104. 
Montpensier,  Mdlle.  de  ("la  Grande  Mademoiselle"),  I.,  96,  183, 

184,  274,  308,  309;  II.,   25,  32,  34  et  seq.,  41,  81,  96,  125, 

132,  133,  203,  208,  232,  233,  238,  250  et  seq.,  259,  268  et  seq., 

321,  322. 
Montreuil,  Matthieu,  I.,  17S. 
Motteville,  Madame  de,  I.,  126,  235,  236,  240,  267,  277,  306;  II., 

18,  73,  90,94,97,  129. 
Motteville,  M.  de.,  II.,  59. 
Mourning,  I.,  20,  134,  155,  193,  248,  249;  TI.,  57,   119,  127,  128, 

257,321. 
Monsqu  eta  ires,  les,  I.,  274,  275,  277  et  seq.;  II.,  17,  122,  172,  333. 
Music,  I.,  16,  42,  43,  52,  53,  99  et  seq.,  126,  127,  179,  201,  273  et 

seq.;  II.,  130,  131,  132  et  seq.,  165,  270. 
Nantes,  Edict  of,  I.,  6;  II.,  234,  273,  307,  308,  311,  312,  313. 
Nantes,   Mademoiselle  de  (Duchesse  d'Enghien),   II.,    314,315. 
Nantouillet,  Chevalier  de,  II.,  188. 
Nemours,  Due  de,  II.,  33,  38,  222. 
Nemours,  Princesse  de,  II.,  222,  223. 
Neuillant,  Madame  de,  II.,  45,46,  47. 
Nevers,  Due  de,  II.,  55,  140  et  seq.,   180,  183,  184,  187  et  seq., 

305- 
Newspapers,  I.,  no,  in,  169;  II.,  117,  270. 
Noailles,  Cardinal  de,  II.,  324. 
Observatory,  Royal,  II.,  164,  331. 

Opera,  Italian,  I.,  53,  306  et  seq.,  311  ;  II.,  71,  91,  123,   130,  332. 
Orleans,  Duchesse  d'  (nee  de  Montpensier),  I.,  96,  97,  139. 
Orleans,  Gaston  d',  I.,  66,  80,  96,  97,  128,  (Due  d'  Orleans)  139 

141,  154,  1S9,  190,  195,  206,  208,  225,  226,  271,  299,  303;  II., 

26,  30,  34,  35,  36,  38,  41,  103,  125,  128. 
Ormesson,  M.  d',  II.,  173,  175. 
Painting,  Academy  of,  II.,  165,  183,  184,  313. 
Palais  Cardinal,  I.,  50,  177,  (Palais  Royal)  199,  227,  254,  259,300, 

307,  308  ;  II.,  9,  n,  71,  124,  130,  157,  208,  329. 
Paris,  condition  of,  I.,  4,  26,  28,  29,  61  et  seq.,  70,  123,  124,  16?, 


INDEX  349 

208,  209,  210,  245;  II.,  10,  155,  156,  163,  164,  200,  328  et 

seq. 
Paris,  extent  of,  I.,  4,  13,  22,  25,  64,  208,  209;  II.,  328,  333,  334. 
Parliament,  I.,  20,  21,  25,  46,  155,  194,  207,  208,  229,  289;  II.,  2, 

3,  4,  10  etseq.,  16,  iS,  19,  24,  26,  29,  31,  32,  35,  44,  69,  149, 

171,  198. 
"  Parnasse,  110ms  de"  I.,  56,  117;  II.,  64. 
Pascal,  Blaise,  II.,  107,  108. 
Patin,  Gui,  II.,  96. 
Patru,  Olivier,  I.,  136,  219. 

Paulet,  Angelique,  I.,  15,  16,  99  et  seq.,  144,  181,  273;  II.,  63. 
Pelisson,  Paul,  I.,  299;  II.,  74,  75,  76,  78,  143,  147,  154,  173,  174, 

175.  233.  234.  274,  296,  322. 
Penance,  I.,  159,  170,  173,  174,  175,  176;  II.,  242,  282,  288,  302, 

304.315- 
Pensions,  I.,  34,  36,  94,  121,  166,  182,  201,  221,  240,  300;  II.,  4, 

25,49,50,71,83,97,99,  125,   142,  146,   152,   153,   157,  160, 

201,  211,  223,  269,  274,  299,  311,  314,  324. 
Perefixe,  Archbishop,  I.,  262  ;  II.,  184. 

Perrault,  Claude,  II.,  78,  120,  158,  159,  161,  162,  163,  200,  331. 
Perrin,  Abbe,  II.,  132,  133. 
Peterborough,  Lord,  II.,  248. 
Petitot,  Jean,  II.,  81,  307  et  seq. 
Philippe,  Monsieur,  I.,  189,  192,  261  et  seq.;  II.,  16,   17,   18,  24, 

25,28,32,33,36,41,92,94,  no,   III,  113,  124,  (Due  d'Or- 

leans)  128  et  seq.,  150  et  seq.,  203,  240,  254,  293,  329. 
"  Philosophes,  les,"  II.,  294,  295,  296. 
"  Fkilothee"  I.,  37. 

Pisani,  Count  de,  I.,  140,  141,  142,  157,  233,  294,  297;  II.,  115. 
Pisani,  Hotel,  I.,  50. 
Pisani,  Marquis,  I.,  44,  50. 
Place  Royale,  I.,  12,  13,  51,  61,  62,  124,  177,  210,  245,  274,  275, 

277,  279,  283,  289,  290. 
Plague,  the,  I.,  4,  6,  46,  122  et  seq.,  132,  133,   134,   165,  210;  II., 

156. 
Poisoning,  I.,  loi,  125,  126;  II.,  20,  177,  240,  241,  305. 
Pomponne,  M.  de,  II.,  147,  167,  170,  175,  178. 
Pons,  Mademoiselle  de,  II.,  151. 
Pont  Neuf,  I.,  28,  29,  64. 


3 so  OLD   PARIS 

Port  Royal,  I.,  276;  II.,  104,  105,  106,  117,  282. 

Poussin,  Nicholas,  I.,  78;  II.,  49. 

Preachers,  I.,  159;  II.,  2446!  seq.,  291. 

"  Precietises  les"  I.,  295,  300;  II.,  77,  80,  82,  98,  99,  loi,  114  et 
seq.,  192. 

"  Preciosite"  I.,  37;  II.,  98,  209. 

Pure,  Abbe  de,  II.,  82, 

Quinault,  II.,  135,  136,  220,  301,  302,  322. 

Rabelais,  I.,  t,t,  II.,  138. 

Racan,  Marquis  de,  I.,  55,  56. 

Racine,  I.,  32;  II.,  137,  186,  187,  188,  189,  190,  19J,  245,  295,  301, 
320,  322,  334. 

Rambouillet  Circle,  I.,  57,  85,  86,  139,  156,  182,  213,  216,  250, 
269,  282,  294,  298;  II.,  48,  63,  76,  83,  116. 

Rambouillet,  Hotel  de,  I.,  16,  37,  38,  49  et  seq.,  84  et  seq.,  91  et 
seq.,  98  et  seq.,  109,  iii,  113,  114,  116,  117,  121,  132,  134, 
136,  137,  139  et  seq.,  145,  149,  152,  155,  156,  172,  173,  176, 
177,  181,  185,  212,  213,  215,  216,  233  et  seq.,  251,  252,  257, 
295,  296,  297,  299,  300,  305;  II.,  48,  55,  63,  74,  76,  82,  98, 
loi,  102,  104,  114,  115,  141,  217,  218,  273,  301,  322. 

^'■Rambouillet,  la folie^''  I.,  49,  50,  217. 

Rambouillet,  Marquis  de,  I.,  44,  45,  48,  95,  132,  143,  157,  212, 
234,  297,  298 ;  II.,  55. 

Rambouillet,  Marquise  de  («fi?  de  Vivonne),  I.,  43,  44,  45,  47 
et.  seq.,  86,  93,  95,  100,  loi,  103,  105,  114,  115,  132,  133, 
134.  137.  139.  141,  143.  151.  157.  181,  212,  216,  219,  234,  236, 
237,  242,  244,  246,  250,  265,  283,  294,  296,  297,  299,  300,  306 ; 
II-,  54,  55'  63,  76,  98,  100,  loi,  114,  273. 

Rambouillet,  Nicholas,  I.,  49,  50,  217. 

Ranee,  Abbe,  II.,  49,  183. 

Ravaillac,  I.,  18,  21. 

Richelieu,  Due  de,  II.,  98,  100,  207,  211,  212,  214,  215  et  seq., 
221. 

Richelieu,  Duchesse  de  {nee  de  Grand  Bois),  II.,  214,  215,  216, 
217,  218. 

Robbery,  I.,  70,  124,  132;  II.,  156,  157. 

Rochefort,  Marechal,  II.,  267. 

Ronsard,  Pierre  de,  I.,  6,  37. 

Rouging,  I.,  69,  70,  174,  249;  II.,  18,  242, 


INDEX  351 

Rousseau,  Jean  Baptiste,  II.,  327. 

Rubens,  I.,  78,  79,  193. 

Ruclle,  I.,  227,  305,  311  ;   II.,  82,  100,  lOl,  255. 

Sable,  Marquise  de,  I.,  136,  185,  250,  276,  283;  II.,   loi   et  seq., 

114,  1 17,  208,  282,  322. 
Sainctot,  Madame  de,  I.,  138;  II.,  57. 
Saint  Aignan,  Due  de,  II.,  125. 

Saint  Antoine,  battle  of  the  Faubourg,  II.,  35  et  seq.,  40. 
Saint  Antoine,  Rue,  I.,  18,  62,  209,  245;  II.,  4,  120. 
Saint  Cyr,  les  Demoiselles,  II.,  320. 
Saint  fivremond,  I.,  136,  221,  248,  250,  255,  277,  279,307;  II., 

49,  78,  141,  142,  181,  182,  183. 
Saint  Hilaire,  General,  II.,  297. 
Saint  Hilaire,  Mademoiselle,  II.,  124,  132. 
Saint  Simon,  I.,  276;  II.,  50,  163,  240,  249,  257. 
Saint  Simon,  Duchesse  de,  II.,  321. 
Salon  bleu,  I.  49,  52,  85,  93,  114,  134,  141,  146,  150,  157,  212,  216, 

233,  234,  242,  244,  252,  296,  297,  298  ;  II.,  48,  55,  63,  76,  104. 
"  Samaritaine^  La"  I.,  29,  30. 
Sanguin,  M.  de,  II.,  300. 
Sarrazin,  I.,  136,  178. 
Sauval,  I.,  13,  iS,  22,  27,  28,  62,  275. 
Savants,  Journal  des,  II.,  165. 
Scarron,  Paul,  I.,  136;  II.,  14,43  et  seq.,  81,83,  92,  126,  152, 

153,  212,  213,  220. 
Schomberg,  Due  de,  I.,  205. 
Sciences,  Academic  des,  II.,  165. 
Scudery,  Georges  de,  I.,  114,  115,  117  et  seq.,  151,  185,213,215, 

246,  300;  II.,  59  et  seq.,  74,  76,  79.  89.  125,  324.  ^ 

Scudery,  Madeleine  de,  I.,  54,  loi,  113  et  seq.,  141,  177,  185,  246, 

250,  255,  295,  298,  300;  II.,  20,  59  et  seq.,  74  et  seq.,  92,  97 

ICO,  112,  116,  156,  157,  173,  174,  193,  209,  210,  215,  -iT^T,,  296, 

z'^z^  324- 

Servien,  Comte  de,  I.,  305. 

Sevigne,  Chevalier  de,  II.,  27. 

Sevigne,  Madame  de,  I.,  137,  165,  253,  254,  257,  298,  300;  II., 
22,  49,  51,  75,  78,  80,  147,  167,  168  et  seq.,  189,  208,  214,  215, 
219,  244,  253,  259,  260,  266,  281,  288,  290,  293,  299,  322,327, 

Seviene,  Marquis  de,  II.,  212, 


352  OLD    PARIS 

Sillery,  Commandeur  de,  I.,  i66. 

Small-pox,  I.,  4,  46,  115,  116,   124,   159,   186,  211,  281,   282,  304, 

309;  II.,  19,  75,  95,  loi,  121,  122,  152,  156,  315. 
Social  intercourse,  desire  for,  I.,  2,  48,  87,  297  ;  II.,  100. 
Soissons,  Countess  of,  I.,  25,  75,  183;  II.,  180,  257,  305. 
Sorbonne,  the,  I.,  199;  II.,  72,  89. 
Spying,  I.,  94,  95,  96,  98,  146,  156,  188;  II.,  96,  210. 
Staal,  Madame  de,  II.,  277. 
Sully,  I.,  7,  II,  12,  19,  21,  62;  II.,  2,  100. 
Superstition,  I.,  4,  17,  25,46,  58,  -Ji,  74,  75,  133,   158,  189,  210, 

265;  II.,  35,  305,  315. 
"  Tendre,  carte  dti pays  de,"  I.,  295,  296. 
Testu,  Abbe,  II.,  218,  219. 
Theatre,  the,  I.,  49,69,  84,  104,  120,  200,  227;  II.,  70,  71,72,  117, 

13O'  I3i<  132,  194,  195.  244.  245.  301,  320,  334- 
Thou,  Councillor  de,  I.,  190,  195,  198. 
Thought,  II.,  68. 
Tingry,  Madame  de,  II.,  305. 
Tournelles,  Palais  des,  I.,  3,  5,  24,  26,  62. 
Tuileries,  I.,  6,  7,  24,  25,  27,  208,  245 ;  II.,  198,  200,  253,  254,  258, 

297.  305-  328. 
Turenne,  Marshal,  I.,  226,  232,  293,  303,  304;  II.,  30,  31,  33  et 

seq.,  no,  170,  226,  227,  231,  283,  296,  297,  298. 
Urfe,  Marquis  d',  I.,  38,  39  et  seq.,  55,  88,  90,  92,  107,  112,  180; 

II.,  102,  141. 
Val  de  Grace,  I.,  259,  260,  261. 
Valois,  Marguerite  de,  I.,  4. 
Val  Profond,  I.,  259. 
Varillas,  II.,  49. 
Vatel,  II.,  147,  148,  262  et  seq. 
Vauban,  II.,  227. 
Vaugelas,  I.,  37,  55,  94,  148. 

Vaux,  Chateau  de,  II.,  145  et  seq.,  167,  170,  200,  204. 
Vaux,  Comtesse  de,  II.,  147,  176,  177. 
Vendome,  Due  de,  I.,  16,  42,  223,  287. 
Vendome,  Place,  I.,  209;  II.,  332,  333. 
Verneuil,  Marquise  de,  I.,  10,  11 ;  II.,  20. 
Versailles,  I.,   125;  II.,  52,  53,   145,   147,   161,   163,  164,   198  et 

seq.,  227,  263,  2S6,  289,   292,  294,  295,   297,  305,  306,  314, 

316,  317,  321.  326. 


INDEX  353 

Victoires,  Place  des,  II.,  331. 

Vigeau,  Mademoiselle  de,  I.,  235,  247. 

Villarceaux,  Marquis  de,  II.,  50. 

Villeroi,  Marquis  de,  I.,  262,  264,  267. 

Vincent  de  Paul,  I.,  30,  31,  90,  91,  155,  160  et  seq.,  188,  204,  206, 

210,  218;  II.,  8. 
Vivonne,  Marechal  de,  II.,  221,  270. 
Voisin,  II.,  305. 
Voiture,  Vincent,  I.,  96,  106,  136  et  .seq.,  148,  149,  150,  178,  179, 

iZ\,  182,  215,  229,  230,  233,  234,  236,  239,  256,  257,  294,  299, 

304,  305;  II.,  55  et  seq.,  63,  188,  218,  219. 
Voltaire,  I.,  136,  305;  II.,  135,  174,  186,  190,  228,  242,  275,  298, 

322,  326,  327. 
Vouet,  Simon,  I.,  78;  II.,  146. 
War,  I.,  3,  4,  12,  14,  III,  149,  153,  1S7,   188,   190,   191,   196,  208, 

226,  228,  229,  231,  232,  274,  293,  294,  302,  303;  II.,  26  et 

seq.,  118,  203,  226  et  seq.,  248,  249,  278  et  seq.,  298,  299,  322. 
Wigs,  II.,  93,  153,  206,  207,  279,  303. 
Woman,  influence  of,  I.,  i,  2,  3,  39,  47,  108,  250,  282,  297;  II., 

10,  103,  116. 
Wren,  Sir  Christopher,  II.,  159,  160,  i6i,  198. 


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